


Harry Potter and the Power of the Phoenix

by RosYourBoat



Series: The Phoenix Prophecies [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Bonding, Creature Fic, Dumbledore's Army, Hogwarts Fifth Year, M/M, Magical Inheritance, Mates, Past Child Abuse, Phoenixes, Powerful Harry, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 71,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosYourBoat/pseuds/RosYourBoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this sequel to "Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Phoenix," Harry returns to school for his fifth year much changed. The powers that he gained over the summer are becoming fully realized as his phoenix side searches for his mate. The distraction of hormones and bonding seems to be the last thing he needs to deal with while Voldemort continues to gather power and the wizarding world prepares for war, but his friends and family are with him every step of the way.</p><p>This fic is unfinished, and will remain so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my recent excavation and expunction of all of my old fics from my hard drive to an online form, where they can be held as an indelible and inescapable memento of my past obsessions. These fics are all unbeta'd and heretofore unseen by anyone but me. I hope someone else feels some of the enjoyment I received from writing them.
> 
> "Harry Potter and the Power of the Phoenix" was written in April of 2008, and is incomplete. Underage sexual content (Harry ad Draco are still 15, regardless of how maturely they are written), as well as continued violence and aftermath from Harry's abusive past eases this fic up to Explicit. This chapter contains a sexual assault.

    Draco Malfoy was certainly _not_ ignorant. Nor was he dull or unobservant or slow or compassionate or any number of things that Malfoy's were not supposed to be. And so, even though he had certainly noticed Potter's rather... significant changes over the summer he, at least, had been able to hide his reaction in the depths of his mind to be visited late in the night with a silencing charm on the door. It disgusted him that the rest of the population of Hogwarts, apparently, did not share this trait.

    He had to admit that it had been quite funny at first to see the reactions of the student body when they had finally caught a good glimpse of the Boy Who Lived at the Gryffindor table before the Welcoming Feast began. Other than the rest of the Golden Trio, the entire Gryffindor table had suddenly found it much more difficult to pay attention to the Sorting because they were too busy drowning in their own drool, and the rest of the tables weren't that much better. Even the Slytherins had barely been able to insult the boy properly, and there were several audible groans when Dumbledore had announced that Harry had contracted a rare form of dragon pox that wouldn't allow him to touch anyone for at least three weeks. It had been funny, until Draco had noticed just how much Harry's looks were affecting the student body. It was to a point that people were deliberately reaching over or across him so that they could touch him, and a small, rather dusty part of Draco's mind had heatedly noted the winces of pain that crossed Harry's face frequently. Not to mention the absurdity of the student body becoming whores overnight.

    Vaguely unsettled at the emotions Harry's plight had stirred in him, Draco had sat at the Slytherin table across the Great Hall and simmered silently, the brooding expression on his face making it clear that anyone who interrupted his thoughts would find their hand pinned to the table by his fork. They probably thought he was jealous that Potter had stolen the limelight with his looks. Draco couldn't really care less what they thought at that moment. He knew that Potter was so utterly oblivious when it came to the affect he had on others that Harry would never even _dream_ of using his looks to his advantage. Draco was even beginning to doubt that Harry even realized how attractive he was, so he had no worries of the Boy Who Lived using his looks like Draco used his own.

    As the Sorting Hat was put away and dinner appeared, Draco took the time to actually _look_ at Harry Potter, if only to see what had caused such a disturbance. As a rule, Draco tended to only glance over the physical features of those around him. He didn't want to give the impression that he was actually _interested_ in anyone in particular, and it was rare that he wanted to start a conversation, so the only purposes to an extensive visual groping would be to insult, to suggest, or to imprint images that could be used later that night (however, such a glance could only be taken when it was certain that the victim would not notice). Since Harry was really the only person that Draco had actively flirted with for the purpose of seduction, Draco had given the other boy a look-over several times, but he had been careful to not look _too_ closely. With how volatile the summer (and their relationship) had been, it was always dangerous to linger too long over certain features. But now, safely across the room, Draco allowed himself to actually _look_.

    Harry was hunched over his barely picked-at meal, looking miserable as he tried to avoid any possible contact from both Ron and Seamus Finnegan, who was particularly eager in his attempts to reach the pot of honey across from Harry. Finally, the Granger girl across from Harry seemed to snap at the Irish boy and stood up, stalking around the table to yank him out of his seat. Seamus was so surprised that he only managed weak protests before he was forced to find another seat as Granger took his (Draco smirked at this, feeling oddly pleased at the Irish boy's ousting). The relief on Harry's face was palpable as he stood to make more room for Granger to sit. Draco slid his gaze down the lean lines of Harry's body, disappointed that they were mostly hidden by his black robes. No help there. His eyes gravitated once more to Harry's face, which was now more relaxed with Hermione comforting him.

    Even at this distance, Draco felt his breath catch at the otherworldly beauty of the Boy Who Lived. His lips were full and red, so easy to stretch into a smile that just barely uncovered his white teeth and yet made the recipient feel as though it was just for them. It made the room ten times brighter. His skin was pale, almost too pale as if he had spent the entire summer inside, and yet it nearly glowed with... something beneath the surface. Words like "power", "life", and "youthfulness" didn't seem to describe it accurately enough. His skin was as smooth as a duckling's down, untouched by spots or freckles, and Draco imagined that it felt even softer. It was perfectly enhanced by the pitch black of his messy locks of hair that occasionally tumbled over his eyes and brushed his delicate jaw. It gave him a wild, untamed look that belied his obvious innocence. It made him look like he had just been shagged. Draco suddenly glanced away from Harry, both to not attract attention to the fact that he was staring and so that his mind wouldn't venture into dangerous territory. After a moment, however, his eyes swung back to Harry's face seemingly of their own volition. By chance, he happened to catch Harry's gaze as he did so, and his heart stopped for a beat.

    Time seemed to slow. Harry's eyes were so deep and piercing that Draco felt as though he couldn't look away even if he wanted to. They were bright, so overwhelmingly bright that he wasn't entirely certain that they wouldn't glow if he turned off the lights. A beautiful shade... not quite grass green or tree green, but the prismatic colors of an emerald captured in those large, innocent and yet haunted eyes framed by a thick fan of long lashes. They completed Harry's fey appearance, making him seem like something from another planet, unique even in the Wizarding World.

    Then, Harry looked away, his smile dimming noticeably but not completely, and Draco blinked as the spell was lifted off of him. A blush almost rose to his face when he realized how horribly _Hufflepuff_ his thoughts had become, but he managed to suppress it to a faint dust of pink over his cheeks that still had his housemates staring at him like he had burst out into song. His heart continued to beat fast, but this time for a different reason. _They can't suspect a thing..._ He scowled at them dangerously, stiffening his spine and hardening his expression until there was absolutely no doubt that there had never been a softer look in the Malfoy heir's eyes. There had been no warmth. No touch of affection or desire. Only hard, flat emptiness.

    Inwardly, Draco was holding his breath in fear. He had been stupid. Idiotic. Granted, he hadn't expected to be drawn into Harry's appearance so fully, but it would be better if he was more careful where his eyes wandered. Not just for his safety from suspicion, but also for his own sanity. After all, it _was_ still _Harry Bloody Potter_ , even if he was hotter than hell, and they _had_ hated each other for four years. Two weeks and an utterly hellish summer couldn't change that completely.

( _Could it...?_ )

* * *

 

    Harry Potter sighed as he collapsed into his favorite armchair by the Gryffindor common room fire and he rubbed his face tiredly with a soft groan. School had only been in session for three weeks and he was already exhausted. The schoolwork wasn't difficult; in fact, with the study and training he had had over the summer at Grimmauld Place, he was finding school easier than he had ever had before and had no trouble understanding the material as well as Hermione did. In order to keep a low profile, however, he purposely made mistakes until his work was just about on par with what it had been in past years.

    No, schoolwork was not the problem, and neither was the mocking articles in the Daily Prophet that suggested that he was an attention-seeking nutter. Not even his horrifying nightmares or the visions he received from Voldemort on a regular basis were what caused his exhaustion, though they did contribute to it. Harry had been dealing with these things for so long that he had become somewhat accustomed to them and had his own ways of dealing with the stress they caused.

    What caused his limbs to constantly tremble and his body to tense nervously was, in fact, the presence of the students around him. Nothing about them, in particular, was different from before; they were as normal as they had ever been. It was Harry who had changed. After a traumatizing summer suffering his uncle's abuse in tandem with Voldemort's visions of death and torture, Harry had been a broken shell of himself; forced to mature even more than he had been before. When Remus, Sirius, and the Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks discovered what had been happening to him while at the Dursley's, they were quick to become his surrogate family once he arrived at Sirius' old family home after a Death Eater attack on the Dursley's. He had slowly but surely recovered both mentally and physically, though the scars of the summer were deep and still healing in his mind.

    It was the night of his fifteenth birthday that Harry's body had been bonded to that of the golden phoenix Zephyr, through a painful process that left his body and magic permanently altered. In the following month, Harry's life had become a confusing and distressing whirlwind of training, life-changing prophecies, death, pain, and a confusing new relationship with Draco Malfoy, who had also been changed in his own way by the events of the summer. The two latched onto each other as a means of staying sane and had fallen into a tentative, cautious friendship borne from similarity and understanding. However, with the amount of pain Harry was receiving from the constant visions, Harry's "inner phoenix" had accelerated its instinctual search for a life mate, forcing his body to become hypersensitive to the touch of anyone who wasn't his mate, which was a constant source of pain and the cause of his current exhaustion and jumpiness.

    Harry had never realized how often casual and accidental touches occurred in an average day, but he was feeling the pain of it every time it happened. The school's occupants knew that he couldn't touch anyone else, but the Headmaster had told them at the Opening Feast that it was because of a rare form of dragon pox, and few people knew the real reason. In fact, only the Order of the Phoenix and Ron and Hermione knew that it was because he was searching for his mate, but Draco, who had stayed at Grimmauld Place for the last two weeks of summer to escape his father, knew that Harry had never had dragon pox and was highly curious as to the real reason.

    Shifting in his armchair to face the warmth of the fire fully, Harry closed his eyes and leaned back, rubbing the back of his right hand absently. There was another reason that Harry's body and mind were straining under the constant stress of his life, and this came in the form of a large, squat, pink-shawled monster by the name of Dolores Umbridge. "Professor" Umbridge, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that the Ministry of Magic had sent to Hogwarts when Dumbledore was unable to find one fast enough, had fallen rather nicely into Harry's definition of the term "evil", and considering the life he led, that was saying a lot.

    Other than her goal to expel Harry, as Dumbledore had warned, Umbridge also seemed to be under Fudge's orders to find out if Dumbledore was amassing an army of students and teachers within Hogwarts to take over the Ministry. Within days of the term beginning, Umbridge had named herself Hogwarts "High Inquisitor", which gave her the power to inspect the teacher's curriculums and the teacher's themselves and report back to the Ministry. Hagrid was missing at the moment (Harry suspected he was on a mission for the Order), and Harry thought that Umbridge would have a field day with the half-giant's class if Hagrid wasn't warned when he came back.

    The first day that they had had her class, she had informed them that her teaching would be entirely theory-based and even Hermione, who loved learning in any form, had to protest that they could hardly learn to defend against Dark Arts when they didn't even use their wand the entire year. Umbridge had ignored all protests however, and continued to teach from her worthless textbook while taking every opportunity she could to try and get a rise out of Harry by antagonizing him constantly. True to his promise to his godfather and Dumbledore, Harry had just taken this new form of abuse silently even when other members of the class were horrified by the low remarks and insults that the toad-faced woman sneered at Harry daily in the hopes of getting him expelled.

    Despite the fact that Harry never responded to her words, Umbridge had still managed to punish the Boy Who Lived by assigning him ridiculous amounts of detentions for, more often than not, imagined slights that quickly became legend around school as Harry was forced to spend hours on end in Umbridge's classroom, sometimes as often as three times a week. This alone was not what classified the woman as "evil" in Harry's mind, however. It was the punishment she administered during her detentions that nearly broke the bonds of his self-control in his desire to curse her into oblivion. The first time that Umbridge had used the Blood Quill, a Dark object, was during his first detention and she informed him that every time he had detention with her, he would write the words "I must not tell lies" over and over again until the detention was over. He had thought that it would not be so bad, but when the words he was writing began to etch themselves into the back of his hand and his blood appeared as the ink, Harry had realized that the woman was not to be underestimated.

    After so many detentions, those words had stopped fading and instead took longer and longer to heal and scabbed over, becoming white scars that were hard to notice if you didn't know they were there. It had quickly become a new habit for Harry to rub his fingers over the words on the back of his hand when he was nervous, thoughtful, or lying, and Harry was still unsure why his friends had not yet noticed that the scars were there. Of course, he had never told them what Umbridge made him use a Blood Quill when he wrote lines and they were busy worrying about their own schoolwork and such, but some part of him was still hurt that they hadn't noticed. Draco, on the other hand, had noticed Harry's new habit when he watched the green-eyed boy from across the room, but Harry knew that the blond had never been close enough to see the scars.

    Draco had carefully kept his distance from Harry while still "fighting" with him on a regular basis to keep up appearances, but he had always made sure that Umbridge was not nearby and that the "fights" never became physical. Unfortunately, the two had not been able to find the time or place to continue the conversations they had had so often while at Grimmauld Place, and they only had glances and their knowledge of each other's body language to convey their feelings to the other. Harry wished they could return to the casual bantering of the summer and he silently despaired that he had thus far been unable to locate his mate, desperate for the return of some normalcy to his life. The end of the month was swiftly approaching, and the end of the effects of Harry's "dragon pox" would end with it. He was so desperate for the constant pain to end that he had reduced himself to brushing up against anyone he met to see if they were his mate, but his efforts had yielded nothing but pain thus far. The only people he hadn't come into contact with were the Slytherins and the teachers.

    Harry shuddered in horror when he thought of the possibility of Snape or Trelawney being his mate.

    However, despite the lack of a mate, there was some sign of the emergence of other phoenix abilities he had inherited with the bond to Zephyr. At the end of one of the more recent detentions with Umbridge, the toad-like woman had approached Harry's desk and grabbed his right hand. She liked to do this occasionally, knowing that it caused him pain to touch other people, but this time pain had not only lanced through the skin of his hand and through his body, but it had also flashed across his scar. A very familiar pain, but it was a little different and was accompanied by a swoop of foreign emotion in his stomach. Later, Harry realized that the emotion was happiness. After checking with Zephyr, it was confirmed that he had experienced a mild connection with his latent empathic abilities. He had not been able to sleep that night.  
  
    Harry was brought out of his brooding thoughts when someone approached the couch adjacent to his chair and flopped into it. Glancing over in surprise, he smiled when he saw Ron sprawled across the couch and Hermione sitting next to him with a huff. Though they hadn't noticed Umbridge's abuse during detentions, they had been instrumental in Harry staying somewhat sane. They had seemed to make it their duty to protect him from forgetful students in the crowded corridors and also help him find his mate by finding excuses to bring him into contact with other students around the school.

    "That Umbridge woman is- is impossible!" Hermione sputtered, glaring at the fire as if it were Umbridge herself. "I can't stand it anymore! Three weeks into the term, and we haven't learned a single hex, a single shield! How does the ministry expect us to be able to defend ourselves!" Ron rolled his eyes and sent a pleading look to Harry, as if begging him to cast a silencing charm on the girl. Harry held up his hands in a helpless gesture and shook his head. Ron sighed and took a deep breath before turning to Hermione.

    "'Mione, you've been saying the same thing for the past week, but you haven't done anything about it. We all agree with you, so you should either be quiet about it or start a Defense club or something like Lockhart did in second year. Complaining about it won't change anything, so... you should, um, do something about it... er, right, Harry?" Ron sent him a panicked look. By the end of his little speech, Hermione expression had become frighteningly blank as she stared at Ron, running her fingers along her wand absently.

    "Is that what you really think, Ron?" She asked calmly, a hard edge to her voice. Ron began nodding his head, but then quickly changed his mind, shaking his head vigorously with a gulp.

    "Er, no, not really. Of course not, it was just the... um, hunger getting to me, you know. I haven't eaten in a few hours, and... er, my brain's not really, um, thinking well, you see..."

    Harry chuckled inwardly as Ron continued to fumble for an excuse to calm the bushy-haired witch. Some things never changed.

    "Erm... why don't we go down to dinner?" Harry suggested before Ron could find himself on the wrong end of Hermione's wand. Ron jumped at the suggestion and was halfway to the portrait opening before Harry even stood up, chuckling.

    "Honestly," Hermione clucked, annoyed. As they followed the eager redhead into the Great Hall, she turned her head to look Harry over critically. "How are you, Harry? We haven't had much time to talk with school starting up, but I've noticed that you're looking peakish again and you're not eating as much as you used to. You're not letting Umbridge get to you, are you? Or is it... something else?"

    Harry ran a hand through his hair, ruffling the soft tresses until they stuck up again, and shook his head tiredly. "No, it's not Umbridge; I don't care about her. This whole dragon pox business is starting to get to me, though, and I just want it to be over with as soon as possible."

    They had nearly reached the Gryffindor table by now and Hermione hesitated before saying, "Don't worry Harry, I'm sure it'll be over with soon. You'll just have to keep an open mind and keep your hopes up." Harry nodded, understanding what she was trying to say. She understood that his mate was now more than likely a Slytherin or even an adult and she was telling him that she would stand by him and support him no matter the outcome. Harry hoped that Ron would be the same way.

    He sat at his usual spot next to Ron, across from Hermione, and facing the other three tables with his back to the wall. He had always been more comfortable where he could see everyone and he scanned the tables absently as he served himself some vegetables, meeting Draco's eyes briefly before sliding away to meet another person's eyes, which were staring directly at him. Startled, Harry blinked and focused on the person again, brilliant green eyes flickering over the non-descript face and Ravenclaw patch on his robes before glancing back up at the face. The boy - a seventh-year, Harry thought - didn't remove his penetrating gaze from Harry, and Harry grew a bit uncomfortable, sending him a small smile in the hopes of making the boy aware that Harry knew he was staring. The older boy smiled briefly in return and Harry's discomfort eased a bit.

    He returned to his conversation with his friends, but was now fully aware of the eyes that continued to watch him. The boy - Bryon Bradley, his mind supplied uncertainly - seemed vaguely familiar, as if Harry had seen him in the halls once or twice, but then again he had the kind of face that you forgot not long after seeing it. Harry didn't really understand why he was dwelling on someone who probably just wanted to see the Boy Who Lived in his "natural environment", but he had a strange feeling in his gut that told him to keep an eye on Bryon Bradley.

   Harry had become used to being stared at over his years at Hogwarts and in the wizarding world, but he had always been able to tell the difference when someone was staring just to stare at his scar and when someone was staring for a completely different reason. As the next few days passed, Harry "tuned in" to the kind of stares he was receiving and found that most of them were still-curious first- and second-years, some were hateful Slytherins, and the most disturbing was the calculating stare of Bryon Bradley. Harry didn't know how he didn't recognize the boy, it seemed that he turned up everywhere that Harry was except in class; brushing by him in the halls, sitting a few tables over in the library, staring during meals...

    Harry was starting to think the Ravenclaw had put a notice-me-not charm on himself.

    When he told Hermione and Ron about it, they were concerned and told him that they would hex Bradley into next week if he tried anything, but really there was nothing they could do until Bradley did something first. However, one night after detention with Umbridge (this time for dropping a book and "disturbing the class"), Hermione drove all thoughts of the strange seventh-year out of Harry's mind for quite some time.

    He had been frantically completing an essay on a table by the common room fire when Hermione and Ron had sat down at the table with him. The room had emptied before he had gotten back from detention with Umbridge and now the fire was beginning to die down as he tried to finish his homework. He barely noticed Hermione putting up privacy and notice-me-not charms around their table, looking like she was preparing for war. To her credit, however, Hermione did wait until he finished the essay before dropping the bombshell on him and completely ruining his day.

    "Harry, Ron and I had an idea that I think would fix the Umbridge problem..." She began, and Harry automatically turned to look at Ron. His expression told Harry that Ron thought that Hermione was mad to talk to him and that Ron would rather be somewhere else. That meant that it was mostly Hermione's idea.

    "Hermione, Ron talks about throwing Umbridge off the Astronomy tower nearly every day. You're not starting to listen to him, are you?" Harry asked amusedly.

    "Not that idea," Hermione huffed. "I meant the idea that we start a club like in second year. A sort of Defense Against the Dark Arts club for people who are tired of Umbridge. Honestly, even the Slytherins are complaining about her teaching by now."

    "That doesn't sound like such a bad idea," Harry mused. "Everyone needs to learn Defense, especially the seventh years, but I doubt that Umbridge will stand for it."  
    "I thought about that," she admitted. "We might have to be a secret club."

    "Right, if you could get a system that works without her finding out about it, what would you do? Look up jinxes and shields in the library and try to practice them in what little spare time you have?"

     "No, I think we've moved beyond the point of learning from books. We need a real teacher, someone who knows what they're doing and can tell us if we're doing it right or not. And this is more important than grades or homework, we really need to know how to protect ourselves."  Harry and Ron stared at her in awe.

    "Wow, I never thought that I'd hear you say that anything was more important than homework." Ron whispered, as if speaking too loudly would cause her to change her mind. Hermione rolled her eyes.

    "Right, ok, so a teacher," Harry said, frowning and furrowing his brows. "Where are you going to find a teacher that would teach an illegal club? If you're talking about Remus-"

    "No, no," Hermione said quickly. "I've already thought about him, but he's probably busy with the Order and Sirius, and that's the same with all the other Order members. Besides, people are still a bit worried about the fact that Professor Lupin is a werewolf; they might not want to be taught by him."

    "Wait, just how many people are you planning on getting into this club?" Harry asked, confused. "Practically everyone we know loves Remus and they don't care that he's a werewolf."

    "Er, well..." Hermione's face turned a bit pink. "I kind of already discussed my idea with a few people, and they really loved it. Ravenclaws and Gryffindors especially, but Hufflepuffs might join too, so probably around... thirty people?"

    Harry stared at her incredulously. "Are you mad?" He asked. "You're signing people up for a club that doesn't exist with a teacher you don't have?" Ron nodded vigorously in agreement, looking relieved that someone was attempting to talk her out of it.

    "That's not true!" Hermione said indignantly. "I was thinking that we could sort of... teach ourselves. I sort've got a teacher in mind, one of the older students, you know..."

    "An older student..." Harry said slowly, feeling his stomach sink. "Who?" Hermione took a deep breath, shooting him a quick glance, and Ron groaned, covering his eyes like a train wreck was happening right in front of him. Harry's breath caught and he stiffened. _She wouldn't..._

    "Well... you, of course."

    Harry stared. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Harry turned to share an exasperated look with Ron, but was consternated to see Ron giving him a sheepish grin, his ears a bit red. He shrugged. "It's not a bad idea, mate," he offered. Harry blinked, a disbelieving smile tugging at his lips.

    "You're joking, right? I can't teach."

    "Harry, you're the best at Defense Against the Dark Arts in the entire school! You always have been!" Harry's smile faltered, realizing that they were actually serious.

    "You're mad," he said blankly. "If you're thinking about going underground, there's no way that I can even be a part of it. Umbridge is watching me like a hawk and I can't risk doing anything against the rules."

    "Oh, but Harry-!" Hermione pleaded anxiously.

    "Of course not, don't even think about it. There's no possible way I could join, even if I needed or wanted to; what with Umbridge on my back and classes and Quidditch starting up. Don't even think about it, Hermione, don't ask me."

    "But people are expecting you to be there!" She cried, taking full advantage of the silencing charms she had put up. As it was, Harry was finding it difficult not to shout or storm from the room. Ron glanced around the room quickly and looked back at Harry, wincing at the darkened expression on his face. Harry gripped the edges of the table and leaned across it, eyes blazing like emerald flames.

    "Are you _insane_?" He hissed, making her flinch. "You've already told them that I would teach? If Umbridge catches wind of this-"

    "Of course I didn't, Harry," she snapped, regaining her composure. "I only said that we needed a teacher like you; someone strong and kind and generous, someone who has experience in fighting. I only mentioned your name, but I guess, er... it kind of got blown out of proportion and now everyone thinks that you'll be teaching us how to fight."

    Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair and giving her a hard look. "I know you're not stupid, Hermione. You know as well as I do that all they want is to see the Boy Who Lived."

    "And they all have good reason to! I'm not saying that it's right or fair, but the fact is that they all look up to you and respect what you say. I mean, just look at what you've done! First year - you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who-"

    "That was luck," Harry protested, "that wasn't skill-"

    "Second year," Ron interrupted, grinning, "you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle."

    "Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up I-"

    Hermione spoke right over him. "Third year, you fought off about a hundred Dementors at once-"

    "You know that was a fluke, if the Time Turner hadn't-"

    "Last year," Ron said loudly, "you fought off You-Know-Who again-"

    "Listen to me!" Harry said, almost angrily. With every incident they mentioned with those smug smiles on their faces, a suffocating feeling of anger and helplessness had slowly crept up through his stomach and to his lungs. They had no idea what it was like! "Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck - I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I just did everything I could think of and I nearly always had help. I was just being stupid-"

    They were still grinning as if he was just being modest, as if he didn't know that he was lucky to be alive, and Harry felt his anger spike. He controlled it with some difficulty, however, not wanting to bring it to Voldemort's attention.

    "Look, you don't know better than I do; I was there, wasn't I?" He said lowly, tightly. "I know what happened, and I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because - because help came at the right time or because I guessed right. I just blundered through it all, I had no idea what I was doing - _stop laughing!_ " He stood up, slamming his hands on the table. Sparks of green light snapped up from the surface of the table around his hands, but he didn't notice. Hermione and Ron's smiles had vanished.

    "You don't know what it's like! Neither of you have ever had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own - your own brain, or guts. It's trying to think straight when you know you're about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die - they've never taught us that in classes, what it's like to deal with things like that. And you two just sit there and act like I'm a clever little boy, that Cedric was stupid, like he messed up - but it could have been me, it would've been me if Voldemort hadn't needed me-"

    He broke off, panting, before he lost control completely. He collapsed back into his seat and buried his face in his hands, rubbing hard before running them through his raven-black hair.

    "But- but, don't you see, Harry?" Hermione said hesitantly. "That's why we need you to teach us. You know what it's like, and we all need to learn and be prepared for the war. We're all going to be right in the middle of a war when we graduate, and we need to know how to deal with that. They don't just want to see the Boy-Who-Lived - they all want to be able to protect their family and friends, they all want to survive, and they all want hope. Hope you can give them!"

    Harry sighed, calming down slightly as he registered the truth of her words. "I understand, Hermione, I really do... and I sympathize with them. I'm just tired of standing out. Defense against the Dark Arts is my life; I don't learn it for fun or to get a good grade in class, I train so that I can survive. With my track record, I'll end up fighting Death Eaters or Voldemort himself again, so I need to learn all I can and keep it a secret as I do so. I just don't have the time or the luxury to teach a bunch of kids how to defend themselves - that's not my responsibility."

    "Just think about it, would you Harry?" Hermione pleaded. "We need you!" Harry nodded wearily, more to get her to stop looking at him like that, and stood again. He shoved a bunch of his books into his book bag and slung it over his shoulder, waving his hand in a casual movement to remove the charms around their table.

    "I've got to go to bed or I won't be able to wake up tomorrow," he said, ignoring their gobsmacked expressions as they stared that the blackened impressions of his hand prints in the table. Without waiting for their responses, he left the room, stalking up the boys' staircase with stiff movements.

* * *

  
    Over the next few days Hermione and Ron mostly left him alone, acting like nothing had happened, but the worried, slightly guilty glances Hermione sent him every once in a while grated on his nerves. Almost unconsciously, he had been watching his fellow students in class and knew that they weren't ready for the war that would inevitably come. Most of them learned spells quickly, but failed to draw their wand properly or they needed work on their aim. Small things, things that could be easily corrected and taught in a Defense class, but with such disastrous consequences should they find themselves in a battle.

    Despite himself, Harry was considering Hermione's request. He couldn't ignore the fact that a whole generation that had gone almost their entire schooling career without a proper Defense teacher would soon be graduating into a world of war. However, he couldn't even consider taking on another responsibility without his mate; he was barely scraping through without going insane as it was.

    The third day after Hermione asked him to teach, Harry sat in Umbridge's office contemplating the problem as he repeatedly carved the words "I must not tell lies" into his hand. The almost constant pain that had become part of his life was nearly driving the phoenix part of him insane without his mate, but the human majority of him had become somewhat used to it. After a life of Vernon's abuse and Voldemort's visions, Harry had a very high threshold of pain and though the throbbing pain of the wound on his hand was getting worse each time he was forced to cut into it, for now it was easily ignored.

    He paused for a moment and stretched his fingers slightly; they were beginning to cramp. Glancing out the window, he saw nothing but pitch black and realized that his detention would soon be over since it must be approaching midnight. Far past curfew, but Umbridge never sent him an excuse note in case he got caught by a prefect.

    "Well well, let's see how we've done today," Umbridge's high-pitched, sugary voice broke into Harry's thoughts and he put down the quill gratefully. The woman waddled over to his desk and snatched his hand, gripping the fingers tightly as she inspected the cuts on the back of his hand. Harry gritted his teeth, nearly whimpering at the amount of pain her touch caused him. Satisfied that the wound was bleeding freely and wouldn't heal for quite some time, Umbridge dropped his hand with a smirk that stretched across her toad-like face like molasses. Harry let out a gasp of relief.

    "It looks like your hand will be in no condition to write tomorrow; a shame, really, but I'm so glad that I finally managed to make an impression," she said sweetly. "You've finished up the last of your detentions at the moment; do try to watch what you do from now on, won't you dear? You may return to your common room now."

    Harry mumbled a farewell and left the kitten-laden classroom as fast as he could. As soon as he was out of sight of the room, however, he slowed to a walk and glanced over his hand carefully. With a sigh, he pulled a length of bandages from his pocket and wrapped them around his hand as best he could, pulling on his gloves afterwards with a worried wince. The gloves that he was forced to wear everyday prevented anyone from seeing the bandages, but in some classes, like Potions, he was required to take the gloves off, and he wasn't sure what Draco would do if he saw the bloodied bandages around his hand. Maybe he could put a notice-me-not charm on it...

    Harry was broken from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps mirroring his own somewhere down the corridor and he sighed disappointedly. The halls were deserted as it was past curfew, and the prefects were probably still scouring the corridors for people snogging or playing pranks, which meant that he would probably get another detention for being out late. Harry would have had Zephyr take him to his bed with phoenix travel, but he had never let her remain in his body after the first detention with Umbridge, knowing how it distressed her, and she was out hunting at the moment. However, Harry was startled when he saw, not one of the House prefects, but Bryon Bradley round the corner behind him.

    "Bradley? What are you doing out past curfew?" Harry asked cautiously; he still hadn't forgotten the strange, foreboding feeling he got whenever he was near the Ravenclaw. The tall boy shrugged his shoulders easily as he approached with a faint grin on his lips. Harry had never heard him speak before, and when he did, it was with a somewhat deep voice that had an edge of excitement to it.

    "I was looking for you; everyone knows that you get out of detention with Umbridge past curfew."

    He had come within an arm's reach of Harry before he paused, still smiling. Harry frowned, confused. "What? Why would-"

    Harry was cut off when the Ravenclaw moved like lightning, snapping his hand out to grasp Harry's wrist and throw him against the nearby wall. The breath was knocked from Harry's body with a gasp and he was momentarily stunned, providing an opportunity for Bradley to pin both of his wrists to the wall by his head and press his body close to Harry's, preventing any movement. Beneath his surprise, Harry's mind was racing frantically, wondering how all the Ministry Aurors and Dumbledore could have missed a Death Eater spy in Ravenclaw; weren't they checking for those things?

    However, all thought stopped when the larger boy pressed even closer, his body flush against Harry's and his head dropping to rest in the crook of his neck. Harry could feel a length of hard heat pressing into his stomach through his clothes, revealing the other boy's prominent arousal as Bradley breathed Harry's scent deeply and began suckling on the soft skin of Harry's neck. _What the hell?_ This was almost too much. His head buzzed with dizzy confusion and his stomach rolled against the sickness and pain that the other boy was causing in his body; the phoenix in his mind screeching its horror and dismay.

    "Oh, I've waited for so long, Harry," Bradley groaned into his neck, biting down at the junction between his neck and shoulder. "Ever since your first year. You were so cute back then, so tiny and innocent; I wanted you back then, too, but I waited. I knew you wouldn't want me back then, you were too young, but you can appreciate my love for you now, can't you, Harry?" He ground his hips into Harry and tightened his grip on Harry's wrists almost to the point of pain.

_I bought us some new toys to play with, freak! Try to get out of these!_

    "What- I don't- get off of me!" Harry stuttered, thoughts scattering as memories of his uncle's abuse unexpectedly rose up in his mind. "Let me go!"

_You're going to listen to me now, boy, aren't you?_

    Bradley was saying something again, reassurances and promises of pleasure. Harry barely understood what he was saying anymore. He did understand, however, when Bradley cast a spell with the wand clamped in his left hand and removed his bruising grip from Harry's wrists. Immediately, he began struggling, but his wrists seemed to be superglued to the wall and no amount of tugging or straining would move them. In the next second, he forgot all about his wrists, as Bradley snaked his cold hands through Harry's open robe and up his shirt, making Harry's flesh simultaneously burn and gooseflesh at his touch.

_Oh, so the worthless freak is cold? Too bad! You can't come in until you finish painting the shed, even if it takes you all night!_

    He let out a whimper of pain that quickly broke off into a pained cry as the aroused Ravenclaw pinched his nipples roughly, Harry's shirt bunched up around his wrists. Harry's mind spun with this new pain and his defenses seemed to have seized up completely. All he could do was stiffen when he felt that hard heat against his stomach again, this time velvety smooth and dripping silky fluid that was spread across his skin as Bradley thrust harshly against him. Apparently the Ravenclaw had not worn underwear, making it easy to unzip his trousers beneath his open robe for easy access. Harry's mind seemed frozen on the fact that the Ravenclaw was practically humping him against the freezing stone walls of the deserted hallways of Hogwarts, his home.

_You have no home, boy. This is our home that you're infesting; no one else loved you enough to take you in, so we got stuck with you!_

    Harry let out another cry of protest as Bradley began biting the sides of his neck up to his jaw, but the Ravenclaw just clamped a hand over his mouth. His thrusts were coming faster now, his hard erection sliding wetly against Harry's hip and stomach as the Ravenclaw reached down with one hand and unbuttoned the top of Harry's trousers before he growled in frustration and used the hand to stroke himself instead. Harry's whimpers of pain escalated into a muffled wail as the pain from Bradley touch abruptly spiked.

    _I bet'cher wondr'in what th' knife's for, eh boy? It's ter make sure that ev'ryone knows wha' ta freak you are so they'll shtay away from you and shtay alive!_

    Suddenly, the taller boy stiffened and let out a hoarse cry, and Harry felt his stomach get splattered with ropey strands of warm liquid that burned even more fiercely against his skin. Realizing what had happened, his struggle renewed and he bit savagely into Bradley's hand, causing the sated boy to rear back in surprise and slap him. Almost instantly, however, Bradley was back and caressing Harry's cheek, murmuring apologies and promises to pleasure him in a few minutes.

_No one's going to love you, freak!_

    "Get away from me!" Harry spat, shaking his head to clear it and remove Bradley's hand. The Ravenclaw's eyes darkened, but before he could do anything, something barreled into his side and he was thrown to the floor, ripping away part of Harry's shirt in the process. Bright slivers of silver flashed in the flickering light of the dim corridor and Harry gaped as he watched Draco Malfoy, the proud, cultured aristocrat, kick savagely at the Ravenclaw on the floor. Draco's hair was mussed and out of place, his face pale and tight with rage as he viciously kicked the older boy in the groin and ribs. Bradley never knew what hit him.

    Harry noticed the exact moment that the Ravenclaw fell unconscious, because the invisible bonds holding his body to the wall abruptly vanished and he collapsed to the floor. Draco noticed as Harry sat up and he slowly stopped kicking the unconscious body, still breathing heavily. Finally, he spat on the floor and snarled "Bastard," before turning and crouching by Harry's side.

    "Draco? I- he-" Harry stared up at him dumbly, stuttering as he tried to express his disgust. "Oh Merlin..." 

    "Don't worry, Harry," Draco said, his voice almost gentle as he looked the Gryffindor over for immediate injuries. "He's going to be expelled. After he spends some time in St. Mungo's, of course."

    Harry didn't smile. "He nearly..." he trailed off faintly. "Why couldn't I do anything? I had - there were- so many places to - to get away. I just - I just let him do that! What the hell is wrong with me?!"

    Draco reached out a hand hesitantly but stopped himself before he touched the smaller boy. "Don't think about it like that," he said instead, his grey eyes concerned as he took in Harry's stricken expression. "Come on, I've got to take you to the Hospital Wing, but I don't think I should levitate you. If it hurts to touch someone else's magic, then it'll hurt less if you just touch my skin. Brace yourself."

    Harry had barely comprehended Draco's words before the Slytherin was picking him up easily, cradling him against his chest as he set off at a fast walk. Harry clenched his fists into the front of Draco's robes and tensed in expectation, but to his utter shock, it was not pain that greeted him, but pure, unadulterated pleasure. It swamped his senses as he was enveloped by Draco's warmth. All the pain that he had been experiencing became muted and shoved to the back of his awareness as he was swept up in feelings of joy, relief, excitement, pleasure, and utter contentment. His inner phoenix was instantly calmed and now sang with happiness, causing his breath to hitch and tears to come to his eyes. He had never felt so joyful or complete in his entire life; it was if he had been living in a dry desert for years and was just getting his first drink of cool, clean water. He couldn't get enough.

    And in that moment, Harry knew.

    When Draco glanced down at him again, worry creasing his brow, Harry just stared up at him in complete shock and awe. "You're..." Was all he managed to say before everything became too much and he fainted.

* * *

  
    "You're..."

    Draco only had enough time to register the surprise and realization in the Gryffindor's face before his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell limp in Draco's arms. Even as he sped up until he was almost running, Draco rolled his eyes and thought, _Why do all Gryffindors insist on being so dramatic?_ Bursting through the Hospital Wing door, he called for Madame Pomfrey as he rushed to Harry's "official" bed and laid him down gently. Within a minute the overprotective mediwitch swept into the room and was by Harry's side, barely acknowledging Draco except to raise a surprised eyebrow at him.

    "Mr. Potter again?" She exclaimed, not looking very surprised. "What's he done this time, then?" She asked as she cast a few diagnostic charms on the unconscious Boy-Who-Lived.

    "He didn't do anything," Draco replied, not taking his eyes off Harry. "He fainted, probably from shock or pain. I was on my prefect rounds when I heard Harry shouting and I saw that bastard Bradley practically raping him." He didn't mention that that corridor had been out of his rounds and a rather intense tug somewhere in the vicinity of his heart had actually led him in that direction. Such a claim would have gone against _so_ many of the Malfoy ideals. Madame Pomfrey's face paled and her lips thinned, though she didn't say anything except, "It had to happen to him." After a few seconds, she told him to sit on one of the beds and left to firecall the Headmaster.

    Instead, Draco sat in the chair next to Harry's bed and stared at his pale face with its stressed, haunted expression that never quite faded, even in sleep, until Madame Pomfrey re-entered the room with the Headmaster following her, a grave expression on his face. His ancient blue eyes flickered over Harry's still form before focusing on Draco with a penetrating stare.

    "Mr. Malfoy, if you would tell me the circumstances?" He said. It was not a question. Draco's hackles raised automatically in defense; sure, Dumbledore had helped him when he had had to get out of his house during the summer, but that _did not_ mean that he was a puppet for the old man to order around! But with a glance at Harry, he calmed himself and repeated the story with a bit more detail.

    "You should probably send someone to find the bastard before he dies," Draco added nonchalantly, silver eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction. Dumbledore sighed, but didn't rebuke him.

    "Very well, we will attend to the matter of Mr. Bradley soon enough. Poppy, what's Harry's condition?" The mediwitch glanced pointedly at Draco, but he just stared right back, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair as if he had all the time in the world. "He can stay, Poppy, they're friends." Madame Pomfrey sighed and gave him a hard look before returning her gaze to Harry and conjuring a Scribing Quill, parchment, and camera, which she sent to circle Harry.

    "He's lost weight again," was her first pronouncement. "He hasn't been eating as much lately and he stopped taking his nourishment potions, so he's back down to 110 pounds, but it could be worse, I suppose. No signs of sexual abuse, thank Merlin. Stress levels are at an all-time high and his body is reflecting that; his nerves are shot again from pain. You could say that he's lucky that his threshold for pain is so high, because otherwise he would've gone insane a week ago. Of course, I always tell him to come to me when he's in pain, but he never listens... Odd, it says that he has extremely deep scarring and lacerations on the back of his right hand. Those weren't there at his last check-up."

    Puzzled, the mediwitch gently tugged off Harry's right glove with her hands and carefully unraveled the clumsily-wrapped bandages underneath. She summoned a bowl of warm water and cleaned off the blood with a wet cloth, sucking in a breath when Harry's hand was slowly revealed. The unobtrusive camera clicked.

_I must not tell lies._

    The words, violently red and still seeping blood slowly, stood out in sharp relief from Harry's pale skin, filling Draco's vision until the image seemed burned into his mind. Distantly, he heard Madame Pomfrey sigh, "I don't know why I even bother to be surprised anymore. So many scars..."

* * *

  
    Harry woke to a slow burning beneath the skin of his stomach, nowhere near as painful as it had been before, but enough for him to force himself to open his eyes. The bright light that stabbed his eyes and the sterile smell that assaulted his nose indicated that he was in the Hospital Wing. Again. He groaned softly.

    "Mr. Potter? Are you awake?" Madame Pomfrey's voice filtered through his mind slowly and Harry braced himself as he opened his eyes once more. Blinking several times to clear his vision, he saw that the rest of the Hospital Wing was dim and the window was dark, indicating that he had probably only been out a short while. The next thing that he noticed was that the room's only other occupant, Dumbledore, was sitting calmly in the chair next to his bed and Madame Pomfrey was perched on the edge of his bed. He noted with a sigh that his clothes were gone and he was naked beneath the sheets, which were currently pooled low around his hips. The reason for this quickly became clear as he watched the mediwitch dip a cloth into a bowl of warm water and wring it out before sweeping it across his flat stomach, picking up dribbles and traces of the semen that had painted his skin.

    He winced slightly at the burning sensation this caused beneath the cloth and Madame Pomfrey paused, handing him the rag and bowl silently and motioning for him to continue. Harry stared at the stained rag in his hand and at the last few milky ropes that slid down his hipbone and shuddered, wiping the cloth across his hips and stomach thoroughly before dropping it into the bowl and putting it on the mobile bedside table. He then pulled up the covers to his chest to cover himself properly.

    "Oh Merlin..." He muttered to himself, scrubbing his hands viciously with the edge of a towel that the mediwitch handed him. It was then that he noticed that he wasn't wearing his gloves and a proper bandage had been taped over the words on his hand. He stopped scrubbing. "Er, diagnostic charms ratted me out again, huh?" He asked, a shaky smile on his face.

    Neither Dumbledore nor Madame Pomfrey smiled.

    "We will discuss the circumstances around those scars in a moment," the elderly wizard said firmly, his eyes betraying nothing. "First, tell us what happened concerning Mr. Bryon Bradley."

    Harry sighed, but carefully explained his foreboding feelings when Bradley stared at him and then described the entire scene in an emotionless voice, omitting Umbridge for now and the memories of his uncle for always, and his voice only trembled slightly when he ended with Draco's rescue. He hesitated at the point where Draco picked him up, glancing at the mediwitch.

    "Don't worry, Harry," Dumbledore said, interpreting his reluctance correctly, "I have brought Poppy into our confidence as she is your main health care provider and should know as much about your condition as possible."

    Harry nodded tensely. "Draco's my mate," he blurted, a blush spreading across his face in embarrassment. "I'd never touched him before, but when he picked me up, I just felt... overwhelmed by happiness and relief and belonging, and all my pain was just pushed away. I've never felt so... good - so accepted - in my life, like I've been missing out on the key to happiness all these years and he was right there... It was amazing, perfect. There's no words to describe it... I just know." A wistful expression came over his face as he tried to find words to describe the feeling.

    "And now, nothing hurts as badly as it used to - it doesn't hurt too badly to touch people, I mean. But I also feel a bit... empty, hollow, now that he's not here. Like I'm missing something and I want it back. Er... where is Draco, anyway?"

    Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling slightly in his knowing way as Harry finished speaking. "After bringing you here and lingering over you for some time, Mr. Malfoy returned to his room. I believe Zephyr has returned to you, also. She was quite worried, I believe, and seemed to be somewhat irritated that we weren't taking very good care of you." The twinkle in his eyes dimmed. "Again, Harry, I cannot express to you how sorry I am. I seem to have failed you, once again."

    Harry looked up from stroking the image of Zephyr on the palm of his hand and shook his head, frowning. "No, it's not your fault, sir. This time it was mostly the Ministry's fault; if Umbridge wasn't here, I probably wouldn't have been at detention tonight and I probably would've taken Bradley more seriously than I was. It was also my fault... I don't know what came over me when he had me pinned to that wall. I know that I could have protected myself against him and stopped him from getting even that far with me, but... I don't know - I just don't know. I choked, I was just so surprised; I thought that he was a Death Eater at first and I was ready to hex him into next week, but then..." He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself.

    "I need a shower. I feel like I'm never going to get clean again."

    "I'm sorry, my boy, but I'm afraid that we will need to address another issue before you can start healing," Dumbledore said gravely. "Your hand."

    Harry looked down at the bandage on the back of his right hand and absently ran his fingers over it with a resigned sigh. Silence reigned in the room for nearly a minute as he gathered his thoughts. "You were right about Umbridge, sir," he said finally. "She's trying to get to me, but I haven't said anything against her. You must've heard about all of the detentions that she's giving me for the most ridiculous things; I must have had over ten detentions with her already. Every time she has me use a Blood Quill to write 'I must not tell lies' over and over again until the detention's over." He shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal anymore; I've had worse and there are more important things at stake than a little pain."

    "You are right, Harry, no matter how much I wish it was not so. And I find myself wishing that I was the one bearing all of the pain for you, but alas, Fate has not decreed it to be."

    "Yes, Fate," Harry said, a bitter edge to his voice. "At least something good came out of this whole mess: I finally found my mate. I'll have to ask Zephyr what to do next."

    "Before you do that, Mister Potter, you will sit there and listen to me very carefully!" Madame Pomfrey interrupted firmly, eyes flashing, and Harry gulped a bit. "I will never know why you insist on causing yourself pain, Harry, but because of this whole mate business, we're halfway back to where we started at the beginning of summer! Until I tell you otherwise, you will eat every single meal, with nourishment potions; you will be back on the post-Cruciatus and healing potions every night; and you will soak that hand in a murtlap solution I will give you for thirty minutes every day and for one hour after detentions. The scarring is too deep to fix now, but it will help. I must also insist that you get a hobby or something to relieve your stress."

    "Touching Draco seems to relieve my stress just fine," Harry mused out loud before he realized what he had said and his face flushed brighter than Ron's hair. "Er, I mean - just touching his arm, or something. Not, I mean - you know. I won't be ready for that for a long time; I don't even know if I'm ready for this! I thought - well, I thought I was ready, but... Draco Malfoy..." Harry fell silent, his thoughts whirling as he comprehended just what this meant. Before he could brood too long, however, he was brought about by Madame Pomfrey huffing in annoyance.

    "There he goes again! I meant that you would need to find a stress-reliever besides your mate, especially with that foul Umbridge woman here."

    "Right, well, Quidditch is starting up again soon..." Harry said absently, glancing at the door anxiously. He really wanted to see Draco. "I should tell Draco about being my mate. Soon. D'you think he's still awake?"

    "Mister Potter, you will not be waking up other students at all hours of the morning to give them a heart attack!" The mediwitch shrieked indignantly and Harry cringed in surprise. Suddenly, he felt Zephyr move from his hand to his forearm and automatically leaned back as a pool of golden light shimmered into existence above his arm and the phoenix emerged from it smoothly. Not wanting to injure his bare shoulder, the golden bird settled next to Harry's side and let the green-eyed boy stroke her back as she eyed the room's occupants with intelligent amber orbs. A moment later, Harry heard her melodic voice trickle through his mind with the familiar connotations of feeling and thought that provided such a complete understanding. From Poppy's awed exclamation of "Oh my!" and Dumbledore's intense focus on Zephyr, Harry assumed that she was speaking to all three of them.

    _I believe I should explain things in more detail now, while some of the most important people in my charge's life are together for perhaps the last time in quite a while. Healer Pomfrey,"_ Zephyr turned her head in the mediwitch's direction and inclined her head. _You have always been an important part of Harry's life and I thank you for your loving care when he was injured, when I was not with him. Your knowledge of medicine and his changing circumstances will bring the two of you closer together as he experiences the - at times - painful but necessary changes his body will undergo in the next few years as it integrates fully with his phoenix abilities. Please listen carefully to what I will explain next concerning Harry and his mate, Draco Malfoy._

    _In the next few days - or perhaps even as long as a week - several life-changing decisions will have to be made by the young Malfoy. A phoenix who has found their life mate is required to give their mate a grace period, a space of time in which the mate may choose to accept or deny the "proposal", in a sense. Normally, this is not such a problem as phoenixes understand the consequences of such a bonding and can easily make their decision within the grace period. However, in this case, which is quite complicated as it involves humans - with human thought, human feelings, and human events to consider - the grace period may not be sufficient time for Draco to choose._

    "But what about me?" Harry asked, a bit affronted. "Don't I get a choice? I barely know Draco at all, and we've hated each other for years!"

    _Come now, Harry, you already know the answers to those questions._ The phoenix chided gently. _The two of you are perfect compliments to each other. You complete each other in ways that can never be completed by someone other than your life mate; have you not felt it already? You are two halves that will make a whole; you cannot exist without the other, just like black and white, yin and yang, good and evil. You know this already, but Draco doesn't._

_The decision to accept you as his life mate will be difficult, complicated, and he will not understand all of what he will be told. It is more than likely that he will be angry and confused, especially considering the past that you two have had together, but if you want to live without a broken heart, you must persuade him to bond with you, to accept you as his mate. After you have at least accepted each other, you can begin the true process of falling in love._

_Now, there is always the possibility that Draco will refuse to accept Harry or that Draco will take too long in deciding and the grace period ends. If either of those situations occur, the phoenix part of Harry's mind will interpret the rejection to mean that if the one being in all the world that was completely suited to him rejected him, then no one else will ever love him. To the phoenix, Draco is The One, the only one that he could be happy with, and if Draco rejects him (or dies), the prospect of living for eternity without the love or companionship of another would utterly destroy the phoenix. As creatures of emotion, the pain of a mate's rejection or death would cause to other half of the pair to eventually waste away or commit suicide. With a connection as deep as Harry has with me, it is impossible to tell what effect the death of the phoenix part of his mind would do. It could shut down his body and thus kill him, or it would completely die within his mind, thus ensuring that he would never reach his full potential. Either way, as deeply connected to him as I am, I would die as well._

There was complete silence in the room as the occupants absorbed that information. Harry stared down at the white sheets of his bed, contemplating the irony that he was entrusting his body, mind, and life to Draco Malfoy in the hopes that the Slytherin would become his mate. He decided that the Fates were either laughing their arses off at him right now, or they were punishing him for having survived the bloody killing curse.  
  
     Zephyr began speaking again.

     _The odds of Draco rejecting Harry are higher than I would have liked, especially considering human nature,_ the phoenix admitted, _but I trust the young Malfoy to make the right decision. His heart is in the right place, and he will know what must be done. So for now, we will continue as if it is certain that Draco will accept._ She turned her head back to face Madame Pomfrey, who was looking quite teary-eyed.

_Healer Pomfrey, I would suggest moving Harry into one of the private rooms here in the Infirmary, one that is warded and, preferably, not well-known. He will most likely never leave these rooms until Draco comes to tell him his answer, for Harry has tasted the joy and completeness that comes with being close to his mate and as the grace period passes with them being separate, Harry will become more and more desperate. In the final days, he will not be able to control himself; the need to touch Draco and be close to him is so strong that he his nearly driven mad. Thus, the private room must be warded, both inside and out, against magical and physical attack. Draco will not feel the pull to Harry (or, if he does, he feels only a fraction of it), and he would most likely be repelled by such forceful feelings._

_As Harry's nurse, it may hurt you to see him in such pain and distress, but calming potions will only work for the first three or four days at most and it is dangerous to be in the same room with him after that. I must warn you that should Draco accept Harry as his mate, Harry will become extremely protective and somewhat volatile for two or three days afterwards, after which point his normal emotions and responses will return to him. It is up to you to decide if you would keep them both in here during those days, but I would recommend it, unless you have an excuse for Harry's violent reactions that would prevent him from being expelled. Perhaps it would ease your mind best to think of Harry as little more than a phoenix; a magnificent animal, but an animal nonetheless._

"I can tell that you're thinking of me like that already," Harry grumbled. "I'm right here, you know." She nipped his finger.

    _Enough of your cheek. You'll be a mindless, quivering mass of hormones in a few days, so I'm explaining what's going to happen to the people that will be making sure you don't blow everyone up while you wait for Draco._ Seeing that he was properly embarrassed, she turned her attention back to the amused adults. _After the two have accepted each other and Harry spends a few days getting his hormones back in order, they will be able to return to their normal daily activities and classes as they sort out their emotions toward each other. Given the fact that they are humans, and also one of those rare couples that hated each other before becoming aware that they were mates, this stage may take some time as they get to know each other._

_They will not have to share a room (though that would be helpful) or do anything out of the ordinary, except that Harry will need to be close enough to touch his mate for a short amount of time at least twice a day. This will ease the pull Harry will feel after spending the day away from his mate. As time passes, this pull, or urge, will become less and less, but it will not fade entirely until the final step is taken to consummate the bond between life mates. This, of course, is sexual intercourse._

Harry choked, mouth gaping wordlessly as his face alternated between beet red and sheer white. " _What?! You didn't - you never told me that!"_ He squawked. Quite literally, as nothing but a shrill cry of offense was apparent to human ears, but Harry froze as he realized what had happened. Zephyr flapped her wings once in approval and her eyes glittered with fierce pride.

    _Well done, Harry!_ _Your first full sentence in the phoenix language! Unfortunately, it wasn't a very intelligent one. What else did you think that two creatures with such deep love would do? Become very good friends?_

Harry flushed. "Well, of course not. I just- I don't know - I've never... Well, you didn't have to say it so plainly!" He sputtered finally, in English. The occupants of the room chuckled at his embarrassment and he scowled down at his bedsheets.

    "Well, I'm afraid that it is quite past all of our bedtimes," Dumbledore said after a moment. "Unless there is something else..?" He looked questioningly at Zephyr, who bobbed her head from side to side in a negative gesture. _Nothing that I will not tell Harry later._

"Then I will contact Mr. Malfoy tomorrow and inform him of the very lengthy, very complicated circumstances. If I may, Harry and good lady, can I have your permission to use some of my memories of Zephyr's introduction and my subsequent encounters with her? I believe those would be a most comprehensive summary of the circumstances for Draco." Both the green-eyed boy and the golden phoenix nodded their heads in tandem, and Dumbledore thanked them.

    "Then I must bid you all good night. Harry, I will visit you tomorrow at a more convenient time to discuss the fate of young Mr. Bradley, but for now, please get some sleep and try to remember that none of this is your fault." Startled, Harry furrowed his brow and nodded.

    "Alright. Good night, sir."

 _And thank you both for helping me watch over young Harry._ Zephyr added her own farewell and bowed her head in their direction before melting back into Harry's body in a flash of fire. Within moments, Dumbledore was gone, and Madame Pomfrey was left shaking her head in awe and bewilderment.

    "I must say, things never get boring when you are around, Harry Potter," she said exasperatedly as she bustled around to the potions cabinet. "Phoenixes, life mates, Draco Malfoy... Far too much excitement, in my opinion. Here, if you won't take Dreamless Sleep, take this calming potion and try and get some sleep. Tomorrow, I'll move you into your private room."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco makes a choice.

    Draco Malfoy was pissed.

    Or, more correctly, he was mostly confused and the rest of his emotions seemed to be out of control, which resulted in him being pissed. Malfoys hate being out of control.

    It was nine o'clock on a beautiful Tuesday morning, and he should have been in class, but after the bombshell that senile old man had dumped on him directly after breakfast, he had decided to skip. _If they think I'm going to just agree and go to class like a good little boy, they're more insane than I had thought._ At the moment, he was pacing his bedroom ( _Thank Merlin for small favors; Slytherin prefects get their own rooms so I don't have to live with Goyle's incessant snoring)_ rather furiously, his thoughts moving contrary to the uniform path he was beginning to wear into the rug in front of the fireplace.

    _Damn Dumbledore, damn phoenixes, damn the Dark Lord, damn increasing powers, and damn the great-Harry-Bloody-Potter! What the hell do they think I am? Some slut to just sell off to Harry Potter to make him happy?_ _Sure, he's hot (_ Damn, who am I kidding, he's downright sexy _), and kind (_ To everyone else _), and fair... But he's also stubborn, pigheaded, a target of the Dark Lord, and a perfect_ Gryffindor _to boot!_

As the day passed, his thoughts continued to run in circles as he tried to process everything he had been told. Ever the Slytherin, he analyzed every piece of information and every memory the old Headmaster had shown him, even if he didn't want to, and tried to see which scenario would benefit him the most, considering the new development. He was the life mate, or soul mate, of Harry Potter, the most sought after teenage wizard (besides Draco himself, of course) by teenaged witches (and wizards) _and_ dark lords. And although Potter seemed to be clueless about the first, he was certainly not stupid when it came to the Dark Lord considering the training and visions he had received all summer.

    If he accepted Harry as his mate, Draco would not only receive the eternal, undying love (eventually, of course) of a powerful, attractive wizard, but he would also receive a boost in magical power and attend training with Harry. However, the downside was that Harry was still a huge target for the Dark Lord, which meant that he, Harry, would undoubtedly cross paths with the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters (which included Draco's own father) again. The odds of dying during such meetings were certainly high. And the whole business with his father... Draco may as well join Potter now if his father ever found out who Draco had stayed with during the summer.

    After revolving all possibilities, advantages, and disadvantages in his mind for the better part of three days (during which he returned to classes and noted that the rest of the Golden Trio were pale and shooting him scalding glances, as if it was his fault that he was Harry's soul mate), Draco was still unsure. The majority of him, the Slytherin part, insisted that he should cut his losses and forget all about Potter and phoenixes and tell Dumbledore to bugger off. Another part reasoned that if he went to the Dark Lord with the information now, he would be promoted to heights and powers that even his father and Potter could never give him.

    And yet, he was still uncertain, for a very, very small part of him (the Other part), still wanted to live a happy life, even if he had given up hope of ever having one years ago. He wanted to be loved by someone unconditionally; he wanted someone who, when he hugged him, made all the problems in the world go away; he wanted and wanted... and with his life, this would be the best chance to get it.

    But would he find any of that with Harry Sodding Potter?

    After all, if he accepted Harry, he would essentially be married at the age of fifteen. He would never have the chance to date other people (much less shag them), but that would also mean that he would never have to go through the arranged marriage that his father had set up before he was born. Draco doubted that Harry would take kindly to him shagging someone on the side; the Gryffindor would probably die of a broken heart, if he didn't blow Draco up first. No, it meant that Harry Ruddy Potter would be his first, last and only shag.

    And so Draco debated within his own mind, becoming more and more pissed as he did so.

* * *

  
    If Harry hadn't known he was going mad with desire for Draco Malfoy, he would have thought he was just going mad for no real reason. He was currently pacing the confines of the comfortably-sized private room at the back of the Hospital Wing, rather furiously, like a caged tiger waiting for the opportunity to strike. For the first few days, he had felt almost completely normal. Hermione and Ron had visited, pale-faced with shock (or in Ron's case, complete horror and anger), and they had talked everything through rather thoroughly until they understood completely what was happening between Harry and Draco.

    Surprisingly, Ron had been almost calm after the explanation. "It's not much different from Veelas, or Frygenies," he said with a shrug when they asked him about it. "For most of the wizarding world, it's an honor to be chosen as the mate of a Veela, since they're always so beautiful and they'll love you unconditionally. It's like a muggle 'fairy' tale for some kids. I'm just buggered that it had to be _Malfoy_ of all people." He pulled a disgusted face.

    Harry had confessed that Draco had been at Grimmauld Place for the last two weeks of summer and they had actually gotten to know each other fairly well, though now Harry wasn't sure if they would be considered friends or just allies. Hermione seemed to be a bit reassured at that, but she still insisted that she would go to the library and try to research the entire topic more thoroughly. After that, they had done homework ("You can't be gone for over a week and expect to understand anything if you don't do the homework!") and played a few games of chess and Exploding Snap before his friends had to leave at curfew.

    Remus and Sirius (in his Animagus form) had managed to visit him once in the early stages. Considering their own relationship, they had no problem with the fact that his mate was a boy, but they were mostly concerned with _who_ the boy was. Over the last weeks of summer, they had become used to Draco's cold personality and they knew that Draco was no longer on the Dark side, but that didn't keep them from worrying about the danger that such a relationship could present. Harry had acknowledged their points, but he was strangely unworried by the whole situation. Mainly, he just wanted to see his mate. Once the adults had realized this, they abandoned the issue for the moment in favor of teasing the black-haired boy and catching up for the short while they had before they needed to return to Grimmauld Place.

    Each day after that, Hermione and Ron had visited him several times under the pretense of visiting their "sick" friend, but as each day passed, it became harder and harder for Harry to concentrate on anything. The day came where he was forced into isolation when he tried to leave the room at the same time that his friends had and he had had to be stunned before he could leave the Hospital Wing. After that, he had woken to an empty bedroom, completely alone; even Zephyr had refused to stay in his body during this time, and almost immediately he had begun pacing.

    He had rarely stopped pacing ever since then; food magically appeared on the table in the corner of the room, but he barely even looked at it and he only slept when his body collapsed in exhaustion. Occasionally, he tried throwing wandless _Reducto_ 's and other such curses, and he would feel the magical wards bending and straining to contain his magic, but it wasn't enough. He knew that Dumbledore himself came by each day to strengthen the wards against his attacks.

    By the fifth day, he was certain that he _was_ mad; he couldn't get Draco out of his mind, remembering every detail of his face, his hands, the way his mouth quirked up and his eyes warmed when he was amused. Every instance where Harry had been close enough to touch the Slytherin or smell his scent or see his grey eyes was dragged up in Harry's mind and he nearly wept at the ache and loss he felt.

    By the seventh and last day, Harry was completely exhausted magically and physically. Having not eaten for nearly four days, his body trembled slightly and his stomach gnawed at him as he lay on the bed. He had curled up on his side away from the door and now stared at the wall with dull green eyes that were bordered by the dark purple circles that came with little sleep. He was certain that he had been rejected by his mate; Draco would never have waited this long to give his answer and that meant that there was no hope for Harry. Uncle Vernon had been right; no one would ever love him.

   As he contemplated his utter despair, Harry barely noticed the sound of the door opening and closing quickly. In fact, he had barely even recognized that there was another presence in the room before the voice he had longed to hear began speaking.

    "So this is what the great Harry Potter has been reduced to, eh? Oh how the mighty have fallen." Harry stiffened in surprise, a numb realization spreading through his body. That voice, that wonderfully clear but perpetually sarcastic voice could only belong to a Malfoy. Harry quickly sat up, head swimming with a mixture of delirious joy and exhaustion, and gaped at the blond, who was standing just in front of the door.

    "Draco!" Harry gasped, voice hoarse with disuse. "You came." Eagerly, hungrily, he ran his eyes over the Slytherin's slender frame before moving his gaze up to lock on those mesmerizing eyes. Almost unconsciously, he moved to sit with his legs tucked beneath him, hands grasping the sheets as he held himself steady.

    "Yes," Draco said simply, looking over Harry as intently as Harry had looked over him. "Merlin, Potter, you look like death warmed over." Harry smiled thinly.

    "I'm sorry, if they'd let me keep my wand, I would've put a glamour charm on, just to ease your eyes." He joked weakly.

    "Who ever said you were easy on the eyes to begin with?" The Slytherin snorted. He took a step closer as if to sit on the bed next to Harry, but the raven-haired boy quickly protested. As his shock began to wear off, Harry felt the urge to latch onto Draco return, just as powerful as it was before, and he actually swayed in the blond's direction before tightening his grip on the bedsheets.

    "Wait! No, d-don't come any closer," he panted. His shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear it, but it didn't help. "I-I can't... control myself very well right now. I d-don't want to pressure you into anything or overwhelm you. Just... Just tell me your answer before you come any closer!"

    Draco considered him very carefully with thoughtful grey eyes, taking in Harry's rumpled clothes, distressed expression, and the way his hands clenched into the sheets. He saw that the bandage had come off of Harry's hand and he could clearly see the words engraved there into the skin. Slowly, deliberately, he took two steps forward until he was nearly next to the bed. Harry's head ducked and his body tensed so quickly that his limbs shuddered as they cramped up. Harry whimpered, clutching at the sheets beneath him so hard that his knuckles turned white.

    "D-Draco..." he moaned. The Slytherin leaned down a bit, eyes narrowing calculatingly, and his voice dropped to a husky whisper.

    "Tell me, Harry. Do you want to touch me?"

    "Damn it, Draco, don't play with me!" Harry snarled, shuddering with want and need. "You know I do!"

    Draco's eyebrows lowered almost angrily as he took several steps back. "Wrong answer," he said coldly. "I want to know if _you_ , Harry Potter, want to touch me. Not the _animal_ , not the phoenix part of your mind, I want to know if _you_ as a human being want to _know_ me." Harry just panted in relief for several seconds, gathering his thoughts. Finally, he tentatively raised his brilliant green eyes to meet Draco's own cold grey ones.

    "Draco, before my body decided to start searching for my mate, you and I had already been friends. With you staying at Grimmauld Place, we got to know each other better and I, at least, was glad that we were able to become friends. I think you're smart, witty, bloody sexy, and I _know_ that you can be nice when you want to be. I also think you're arrogant, possessive, stubborn, and vain. But... if I hadn't known that I was promised to a life mate, I would have been interested in getting to know you even better. And to tell the truth, I still am. I know that we're soul mates, so I'm willing to find out what makes us such a perfect fit."

    Silence fell upon the room. Draco's emotionless eyes bored into Harry's expressive orbs, weighing, assessing, searching. Finally, he spoke.

    "What would you do if I said no?"

    Harry's head dropped, despair and hopelessness pressing down on him. "I... I would probably die. I can't and won't force you to do anything you don't want to, Draco, I just want you to be happy. So if you really don't want to be my mate... I would accept that, and never bother you again."

    More silence.

    "Merlin knows why, but I believe you, Potter. But if I accept you as my soul mate, I am quite literally placing my life in your hands. I'm going to have to trust you to protect me and cover my back; if anyone Dark were to find out that we were together, my life would be just as sought after as yours, if not more so."

    "I know." Harry whispered, the urge abating slightly as guilt filled him. "I know, and I hate it. I wish I wasn't such a burden, such a threat to everyone who is close to me, but... that's my life. I didn't ask for any of this, but I ended up with it all anyway, so there's nothing I can do about it. All I can do is promise that I'll try and protect you with every part of my being; with my life, if necessary. We don't know each other much at all, but if anything bad happens to you because of me, then - that's m-my r-responsib-bility." By the time he had finished speaking, Harry's body began to shudder again as Draco took a step forward; the urge was back in full force.

    "Ah! D-Draco..." Harry gasped, forcing himself to huddle close to the bed as Draco took another step. "N-no... stop, please! Just tell me your answer before you drive me completely mad!" Draco paused and there was a beat of silence. Then...

    "I accept."

    Harry's body froze for a second before his head snapped up so fast that it was a wonder that he didn't get whiplash. "W-what?" He whispered, eyes wide with shock and hope. Draco held his eyes firmly, not hesitating as he repeated himself formally.

    "I, Draco Malfoy, accept you, Harry Potter, as my life and soul mate."

    With a strangled cry, Harry shot off the bed and collapsed into the blond's arms, nearly sobbing with relief and joy. "Oh God, oh God, oh Merlin! Thank you, thank you..." He murmured over and over as he buried his face into the taller boy's chest and fisted his hands in Draco's robes, holding on as if it was the only thing keeping him on earth at the moment. That was nearly what it felt like. The amount of joy, completeness, and relief that swamped his senses made his head whirl and his knees wobble like jelly. Suddenly, it wasn't enough to be close to Draco. He needed to be closer, he had waited so long, he needed to feel the warmth of Draco's skin beneath his hands.

    The blond stiffened in surprise when the Gryffindor ran his hands down to his waist and slid them back up underneath his shirt, but he didn't make a move to stop him. A slight keening noise rose from Harry's throat that soon turned to a throaty moan as he ran his hands across the smooth skin of Draco's back, sides, and chest, and Harry pulled up the shirt high enough that he could rest his cheek on the warm skin above Draco's heart. With a sigh of contentment, Harry snaked his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him closer as he nuzzled the blond's chest. Tentatively, Draco raised his own arms to wrap around the Gryffindor's thin shoulders and back, and for a long while they both just stood there, contemplating the consequences of their decision.

    In the following two days, Madame Pomfrey entered the room and gave both of them check-ups to determine if anything harmful had occurred as a result of the acceptance. Draco had been fine, but Harry had had to sit through another stern lecture as she catalogued the results of his self-imposed fast and he had had to down no less than four potions before she was satisfied. It seemed that he was back to taking daily potions in order to return his body to a somewhat healthy state.

    After Madame Pomfrey had left, Hermione and Ron had entered the room hesitantly, sighing in relief when they saw him sitting on the bed next to Draco, unharmed. The interaction between his friends and Draco was somewhat stiff and cold, but Harry was merely glad that they were being civil to each other. He figured that Ron had been warned that Harry would be somewhat protective of Draco. As it turned out, they didn't stay long, but they brought homework and games to keep them busy for the following days.

    At first, it had been quite awkward between Harry and Draco as they tried to sort out what they felt for each other and what their relationship had changed into, but eventually they reached a silent agreement to act as they had before, at Grimmauld Place, until they got to know each other better. While they both had to get used to sitting close enough that Harry could touch Draco at odd intervals, they were eventually able to get used to this also. By the time they were finally able to leave, however, both were glad to return to their normal lives; even if Harry was a bit reluctant to leave Draco's side, they needed to spend some time apart to put everything back into perspective.

* * *

  
    For a time it seemed as though everything had gone back to normal. Draco went back to antagonizing Harry (somehow managing to get close enough to touch briefly), the Gryffindors celebrated Harry's return, Umbridge was as suspicious and evil as always, and Bryon Bradley was expelled on charges of sexual harassment. However, as some things resolved themselves, the others just became more complicated.

    "Er... Harry," the Boy-Who-Lived glanced up from his Defense book and looked questioningly at the fidgeting witch in front of him. She had long blond hair and blue eyes that sparkled with innocence; Harry thought that she was a second- or third-year. "C-can I talk to you?"

    He nodded, setting down his book and turning his attention to her. "Sure, what can I do for you... er, Molly, wasn't it?" Nodding furiously, she squirmed and blushed under his brilliantly green-eyed gaze. Harry wondered if something was wrong with her or if all young girls did that when they talked to him.

    "Er... I w-was wondering... you were sick during the f-first Hogsmead weekend, s-so I was wondering if you, um, wanted to go to the next one with me?"

    Stunned, Harry blinked a bit and a blush spread over his cheeks. _She's asking me out?_ "Oh, erm... I'm sorry, but I wasn't planning on going to the next one..." seeing that she still looked hopeful, he quickly added, "And besides, I'm really not interested in, er, seeing anyone right now... OWLs, you know. I'm sorry."

    She looked crestfallen, but at least she didn't seem like she would burst into tears at any moment. "Oh... well, t-that's all right, I suppose. Er, well, I'll see you around then, Harry." She blushed again and scampered off before he could reply. Harry stared after her, gobsmacked. A tall, lanky body suddenly dropped into the chair next to his and a hand clapped him on the back, causing him to flinch instinctively. A few familiar faces from nearby leaned over.

    "Smooth, Harry." Seamus Finnegan said with a wince. "Blimey, I thought that you would get better, but you're still blushing and stammering like a dumb fool. You'll have the girls laughing at you instead of asking you out if you're not careful." Harry dropped his head into his hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose hard.

    "Ugh, that was the third one this week," he groaned. "Do I have a gigantic 'Date me' sign on my back or something?"

    "Nope, it's on your forehead," Ron quipped, leaning back and giving Harry a strange look. "You really are blind, aren't you? Merlin's balls, Harry, how can you be so good at Defense when you don't notice anything? Girls have been fawning over you since our first year; they follow you around and moon over you like lost sheep and you don't even notice!"  
    "Oh, they do not!" Harry said dismissively. "Besides, I've got a lot on my mind; trying to stay alive every year and weasel out Voldemort's spies trying to kill me."

    "Well, there is that," Dean Thomas admitted. "But, honestly, I think that girl was part of the Harry Potter Fan Club. They had a meeting last night, you know, and I overheard it." Harry stared at him like he'd grown a second head. _The_ what _?_

    "Staking out young prospects, eh Dean?" Seamus said with a wink, elbowing the other boy in the ribs.

    "Wait, wait. H-Harry Potter _Fan Club_?" Harry stammered incredulously. "You're joking, right?"

    Ron stared. "Are you serious? I thought you knew about the club at least; it's been going strong ever since the Patil twins started it up in our first year. They don't lead it anymore though."

    "The _Patil_ twins?" Harry squeaked. They were notorious gossipers and love advisers. "Why don't you tell me these things? I think I have a right to know if I have my own bloody fan club!"

    Seamus clasped his hands together and sighed dramatically as he looked up at the ceiling with fluttering eyelashes. "I can see it now: dozens of young, nubile girls gathered together to share stories and descriptions of their encounters with the famous Harry Potter. 'He's so shy and gentlemanly,' they say, 'I could tell that he didn't want to go out with me, but his blush was so cute that I just don't care!'" The surrounding kids broke up into laughter as Harry blushed and glared and Ron made a face.

    After dinner, Hermione somehow cornered Harry and Ron in the common room and ordered them to meet her there after everyone had gone to sleep, and with a sinking in his stomach, Harry agreed. He knew what she wanted.

    At the appointed time, Harry and Ron crept down from their dorms and waited until the common room had cleared out before Harry cast a few silencing charms and they huddled close near the fire.

    "Harry-" Hermione began hesitantly, but Harry put up a hand immediately to quiet her.

    "I know what you want to ask," he said neutrally. Really, after he had given the idea some thought, he found that he couldn't just sit around and do nothing. "And... I accept. Umbridge has had her way long enough; everyone needs to start learning some real defense before they go home for the holidays, and if I have to be the one to teach them properly, then... I will."

    "Oh Harry!" Hermione cried, launching herself at him and hugging him tightly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Harry winced a bit from a tiny twinge of pain reminiscent of the agony it had been to touch someone else, but endured her hug anyway. He rolled his eyes and glanced over at Ron with an exasperated smile tugging at his lips. Ron's ears were a bit red at first, but then remembrance dawned on his face and he smiled broadly, clapping Harry on the shoulder and ignoring the instinctive flinch this caused.

    "It also helps that you found a certain someone and got them to accept you, right?" He said mischievously, and a blush instantly spread across Harry's cheeks. Hermione sat back and watched him with a warm smile, glad that some normalcy had returned to his life (even if Malfoy had brought it about) and that he was slowly returning to the Harry they knew for five years.

    "Maybe..." _Yes._

They sat for an hour longer discussing how the group would start up and what things they planned to learn during the year. Harry immediately volunteered to check out possible members to see if they were trustworthy and he had an idea of what he wanted to teach, but other than that, he mostly let Hermione talk. She had practically organized the entire thing already and showed them the Galleons she had used the Protean Charm on, giving Harry the "master" coin that would be the only one that could change all of others.  
    "The only thing we need," she said, eyes glittering triumphantly, "is a place to meet." Ron and Harry rolled their eyes in exasperation.

* * *

 

    The next morning, Harry woke with a start and sat up in the darkness of his enclosed bed. His breath was coming in soft pants, his heart racing, and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. He was really beginning to hate sleep. Although he had not experienced a vision, he continued to be plagued with nightmares involving people he had seen die... and a recent addition to his nightmares, Bryon Bradley, occasionally attempted to molest him.

    Sighing, Harry wiped his forehead and stared sightlessly down at his red sheets, finding comfort in the warmth of Zephyr's sleeping form against the skin of his inner wrist. He didn't know how long he sat there, brooding over the contents of his dreams with a foreboding feeling in his gut, but eventually he emerged from his bed and padded quickly across the cool stones to the bathroom. It was not much earlier than he usually woke up, so Harry showered quickly and slipped down to the common room to finish up a bit of last-minute homework. It wasn't long before Hermione, the first person to wake up in the mornings, joined him.

    "Hey," she said quietly as she settled into an armchair next to his table. "What are you doing up so early?"

    He shrugged. "Woke up early to finish homework," he said. Hermione eyed him suspiciously for a moment, knowing that he would never get up early voluntarily to do _homework_ of all things, but she let it go. They sat in silence, Harry finishing his homework and Hermione reading from a thick tome, until people began making their way down from the dorms. When Ron finally emerged, blinking owlishly, the trio headed down to breakfast.

    Harry sat in his usual spot and glanced over the tables, a smile twitching his lips as he saw Draco speaking imperiously to a wide-eyed first-year, and over the Head Table as well, feeling a pang of worry as he saw that Hagrid had still not returned from... wherever he was. Harry hoped he was alright. Hagrid had been his very first friend. Shaking himself from his worry, he tuned back into his friend's conversations, but not long afterward he felt the same foreboding from that morning seeping into his gut as the fluttering of wings filled the hall. Mail had arrived, but Harry couldn't see the distinctive white feathers of his snowy owl anywhere. Harry had sent a letter to Sirius back at Grimmauld Place several days ago, and Harry had expected Hedwig to be back by now.

    Shaking off his uneasiness and worry, Harry left with his friends to History of Magic when breakfast was over. The class passed slowly at first as Harry took notes on several promising hexes he was reading from one of his Defense books, but eventually an interested stirring that came from his surrounding classmates drew him from his single-minded thoughts and he looked up. Blinking, he looked around and his eyes widened in surprise when he spotted the familiar white owl tapping her beak on the window nearest to his desk. A letter was tied to her leg.

    Brows furrowing in confusion and worry (Hedwig had never sought him out during class before), Harry barely cast a glance at the rambling ghost at the front of the room before setting his quill down and quickly moving over to the window. He carefully opened it, expecting Hedwig to hold out her leg for him to untie the scroll before flying back to the Owlery, but he was surprised when the owl hopped inside with a doleful hoot.

    "Oh, I've always loved that owl, she's so beautiful." Harry heard Lavender sigh to Pavarti, and he rolled his eyes before gathering the owl into his arms and heading back to his seat. Just as he was about to untie the letter from her leg, however, he froze, eyes fixed on the bright crimson splotches covering Hedwig's right wing and side. The wing was bent oddly and the feathers were ruffled untidily. Harry reached out a disbelieving finger to touch the wing, but Hedwig just fluffed her feathers defensively and glared at him reproachfully.

    "Oh Hedwig..!" Harry breathed, dismayed. Who had done this? What had happened? Keeping his movements deliberately slow so as to not draw attention, Harry pulled out his wand and gently tapped Hedwig on the head, murmuring a Disillusionment Charm, and the injured owl disappeared from sight. Waving off his friend's concern, he gently picked up the invisible animal and asked the clueless Binns if he could go the Hospital Wing. Thrown severely off-balance by this abnormal request, the ghost eventually gave his permission and Harry fled the room.

    He broke into a run as soon as he was out of eyesight and let his control over the Disillusionment Charm slip away, revealing the injured owl in his arms. His first instinct was to find Hagrid, but since the half-giant wasn't here, he would have to make do with Professor Grubbly-Plank. Praying that Umbridge had a class right now, Harry made his way quickly to the teacher's lounge and knocked on the door. He waited impatiently for it to open and he let out a sigh of relief when McGonagall's frowning face appeared.

    "Mr. Potter!" She cried with exasperation. "Not another detention!"

    "No, Professor, I need to see Professor Grubbly-Plank about my owl," Harry hastened to reassure her. Blinking in surprise, McGonagall looked down at the bloody bundle in his arms, but before she could say anything, the substitute Care of Magical Creatures teacher appeared next to her, peering at the owl with some concern. Harry carefully handed the injured bird to the teacher, untying his letter and stuffing it into his robes quickly as he explained what happened.

    "It looks like something attacked her," Grubbly-Plank tutted when he finished, indicating the bloodied wing. "There's a rather bad cut along the ridge of the bone here, but nothing that is too serious. D'you know where she was coming from?"

    "Er, near London," Harry responded, sending McGonagall a pointed look. Her eyes widened in understanding.

    Professor Grubbly-Plank grunted. "A rather long way, then. You've got a good bird here, Mr. Potter, very loyal. Don't worry, I'll take care of her; you should head on back to class now." Harry nodded reluctantly, thanked her, and turned away with a final glance at one of his first friends. However, before he could go too far, he was stopped by his Transfiguration teacher's voice.

    "Mr. Potter!"

    Pausing, Harry waited for her to catch up with him. "Yes, Professor?"

    "I don't believe I have to warn you about... certain people," she began quietly, glancing at his now-exposed right hand with a dark expression on her face, "but I do need to tell you that some methods of communication are being watched. It would be unwise to send such a recognizable owl on such dangerous errands."

    Harry's own face darkened and he nodded in understanding. "I know. Tell him, won't you?" She nodded, not bothering to ask who he was talking about.

* * *

  
    The attack on Hedwig seemed to have stirred up some painful memories for Harry, and he found himself sitting up in his bed with a strangled cry that night, the pleading eyes of a young girl bored into his memory like a brand. His mind nervously jumped over the memories of the attack that night so long ago, skimming over the images of torture, pain, and hatred. Twitching his wrist to release his wand into his hand from his holster, he summoned his journal and turned it over and over again in his hands. The edges of the cover were streaked with sweaty fingerprints from endless nights such as these and it was with a frightening familiarity that Harry opened the journal to the second page. Trailing his eyes down the list of names there, his eyes paused on a single name. Sara. He didn't know her last name, since it was the last word that the girl's muggle mother had spoken before the Death Eaters had torn her other arm off and cut off her screams with the Killing Curse. He didn't think Sara lived through the night either. Suddenly, Harry felt incredibly closed in, his heart refusing to calm it's pounding, his breath hitching in distress, and he threw the covers of his bed away from his body.

    Only pausing to snatch his Invisibility Cloak, Harry scrambled out of his enclosed bed and slipped out of Gryffindor Tower with the cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Countless blocks of stone passed from beneath his bare feet as he blindly fled from the formless wraiths of his nightmares. Finally, the adrenaline seemed to abandon him and he slowed to a stop, panting as he pressed his head to the cold stone and slid down the wall. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Harry buried his head in his knees and closed his eyes, listening to his uneven breaths and firmly drawing his thoughts away from the guilt of watching countless people die from Voldemort's perspective.

    He knew that he could never get used to feeling Voldemort's pleasure and satisfaction at the deaths of muggles as if it was his own, and it was becoming increasingly difficult not to be dragged down into depression and despair, but Harry refused to let Voldemort win. He locked the pain away, deep in his heart, but there were times like tonight where it was just too great. Harry's shoulders shook and clenched with suppressed sobs, hot tears dampening the knees of his pajama bottoms, as he huddled close to himself to try and gather some comfort for his pain.

    However, he froze when a clatter of metal suddenly rent the air, followed by a soft curse. Tears forgotten, Harry stood shakily and pressed himself close to the cold stone despite his invisibility cloak. He barely dared to breathe, suddenly realizing that he was standing in the corridor off of the Entrance Hall near the Defense classroom, and cursed silently at his stupidity. If he got caught by Umbridge or one of the Ministry lackeys, he would be in detention until the end of the year. He held his breath as footsteps hurriedly approached his location, echoed by other footsteps farther behind.

    Harry barely managed to keep his gasp of surprise silent when he saw Draco's familiar silvery-blond hair enter his vision, the Slytherin's mouth pinched with worry as he glanced back behind him. Harry snapped out of his stupor when the footsteps following his mate suddenly sped up, and he didn't stop to think before he threw himself away from the wall and collided with Draco. Harry quickly covered Draco's mouth to stifle any sound, and let their momentum carry them into the open door of an empty classroom across from where Harry had stopped. The room was dark and unused, much to Harry's relief, and he quickly moved them out of the way of the doorway, pinning Draco to the wall. Wandlessly, he pushed the door shut silently.

    "Quiet," Harry breathed, feeling Draco stiffen with surprise and slump with relief as he recognized Harry's voice. They stood silently in the darkness as the pursuing footsteps moved without pausing past their hiding place. As the footsteps faded, Harry dropped his head into the crook of Draco's neck, sighing with relief. They waited several more minutes in silence, listening intently. Eventually, Draco stirred.

    "Po- Harry?" He asked quietly, shivers running up his spine every time the Gryffindor's soft, warm breaths ghosted over his skin. "They're gone." There was no reply. Harry's body was pressed close to Draco's, every nerve on fire wherever they touched, and Harry's mind buzzed with the warmth, comfort, and acceptance he had been so desperate for only minutes ago.

    "You prat, you better not fall asleep on me." Draco's voice, cold and disgusted but with a warm undercurrent of amusement, washed over Harry and he just moved a little bit closer in response.

    "Is that any way to treat someone who saved you from detention for the rest of the year?" Harry murmured, feeling Draco shiver as his soft lips moved against the skin of the Slytherin's neck. Harry wasn't sure why he wasn't embarrassed that his body was still pressed so closely against Draco, but Harry was feeling a bit reckless and insecure from his nightmare and Draco wasn't pulling away, so he continued to indulge in his mate's soft skin.

    "You never seemed to mind before," Draco was saying in reply, turning his head slightly. However, he froze when he felt the wetness of Harry's lingering tears against his jaw. Gently, he grasped Harry's shoulders and pushed him far enough away to see his face, reaching into his silk nightrobe and pulling out his wand to whisper a quiet _Lumos._ The light caused both of them to flinch and blink rapidly, but Draco's eyes adjusted first. Spotting the glistening trails beneath the Gryffindor's large, haunted green eyes, Draco frowned, a trifle concerned.

    "What happened, Harry?" Confused, Harry's hand automatically lifted before he remembered that he had been crying when he had been interrupted by Draco. Blushing furiously in embarrassment, he wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and let his eyes drop to the floor. "Just nightmares," he said hoarsely, shrugging. "I'm fine, I just had to get away for a bit."

    Draco just watched him silently, eyes sweeping over his thin form calculatingly, before he rolled his eyes. Sighing as if it pained him to do so, he reached out and pulled Harry into a soft embrace. Harry stiffened momentarily in surprise but almost immediately melted against his mate's warm, firm body, clutching soft fabric of Draco's nightrobe uncertainly and burying his face in the crook of Draco's neck again.

    "It's hard, sometimes," Harry admitted very quietly, as if revealing some great secret. "But I'll get used to it. Eventually." He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself more than Draco, who just snorted softly.

    "Liar. No one can get used to seeing the things you do, except the people who enjoy it." Harry didn't reply for a long moment, but pressed himself closer to Draco.

    "I'm glad you're here, Draco," he said finally. "I'm glad I found you." Draco didn't say anything in response, still somewhat uncomfortable with the nature of their... relationship, or whatever it was. "What were you doing wandering the halls in the middle of the night anyway?" Harry asked, moving back a little to look up at Draco, but taking care to remain in the Slytherin's embrace.

    "I was on my way to meet Umbridge for our nightly dalliance," Draco said, rolling his eyes. Harry made a disgusted face and an evil little smile crept over Draco's face. "Honestly, Potter, how little do you think of me? I was actually looking for the kitchens and, I'll have you know, avoiding all those bumbling Aurors just fine until that blasted suit of armor decided to leap out in front of me out of nowhere. Speaking of which, why the hell is half of you still invisible?"

    Harry grinned and pulled his invisibility cloak, which had slipped down, off completely and held it up. Draco's mouth dropped and he slowly reached out to touch the silvery, fluid-like fabric, eyes brightening with understanding and child-like excitement. "So _that's_ how you get away with everything," he breathed. "Do you know how rare invisibility cloaks are? I'm surprised Dumbledore even lets you have it."

    "Funny, I didn't even know it existed until Dumbledore gave it to me for Christmas my first year." Harry quipped. "It was my dad's, and Dumbledore thought that I should have it. You have no idea how useful it is."

    "I can imagine," Draco said, eyeing the cloak enviously. Harry suddenly remembered that they were still pressed closely together against the cold stone walls, and he tried to back away with a blush, but Draco seemed to have realized their proximity at the same moment and a wicked gleam entered his eyes. Harry didn't know how, but suddenly the room spun and he found himself pressed against the wall, their positions reversed. Draco's breath puffed against his cheek in a quiet chuckle and Harry shivered when the Slytherin nibbled lightly on his ear.

    "Well, well, well," Draco's voice was low and seductive, and Harry's knees suddenly felt like water. A distant part of his brain that wasn't suddenly riveted on Draco's body noted that it was lucky that he was pinned to the wall or else he would have certainly collapsed. "Look what we have here; an innocent little Gryffindor trapped in a dark room with a Slytherin. Whatever will we do?"

    "D-Draco... what are you d-doing?" Harry panted, hands clenching and unclenching indecisively in Draco's nightrobe. The blond didn't reply. Harry suddenly felt a slim leg being pressed between his own and his breath hitched as Draco's hands trailed down his sides, his brain whirling with pleasure and excitement. Draco's tongue seemed to be working wonders on his neck, laving the soft skin every time Draco nipped him, and he groaned when the Slytherin's long fingers traced the edge of his thin pajama bottoms, which were riding low on his hips. Instinctively, he slid his arms up behind Draco's head and pulled him closer, tilting his head to allow better access for the blond and arching against him.

    This pulled a low growl from Draco as Harry's leg brushed against his crotch and he gripped the dazed Gryffindor's slim hips to keep him from moving further. "Careful there, Potter," Draco warned, and Harry blushed as a bit of awareness came back to him. He could feel Draco's considerable arousal pressing firmly against his thigh. Before he could think, he shifted. Both boys gasped at the pleasure that exploded and shivered through their bodies. Automatically, Harry's hips bucked once more to bring his burgeoning arousal into contact with Draco's leg while Draco froze, a low moan ripped from his throat. Draco's head dropped forward and he latched onto Harry's neck with his lips and teeth, even as he rubbed himself seductively against Harry's thigh.

    Harry yelped a bit in surprise more than pain as the Slytherin bit rather harshly near the junction of his neck and shoulder, but the pleasure clouded his senses in the next second as Draco lapped at the bite apologetically and laved it generously with his tongue before moving back up to his ear. Harry's neck and ears had always been sensitive, as Draco was coming to realize. Draco noted these spots as erogenous zones in a distant part of his mind, smirking against Harry's soft, fragrant skin, and moved back to suckle possessively at the bite he had inflicted earlier. He felt Harry sag against him at this, the petite boy's soft pants and sounds of pleasure driving him mad.

    "D-Draco..." Harry mewled, dropping his head back against the stone and moving his hands to grasp Draco's shoulders. "Oh Merlin... Ah! Don't stop..." A distant part of Harry's mind was sputtering in horror and shame at the way he was rubbing himself wantonly against the Slytherin like a sleazy whore, but Harry found that he couldn't stop himself. His mind was whirling with pleasure and happiness and lust, random thoughts emerging and dropping away like flotsam on turbulent seas as he drank in his mate's touch, scent, and taste.

    He barely noticed when Draco's hands stopped massaging his hips, but he groaned when the Slytherin reached down to cup his arse, kneading the soft, curved flesh. Frantically, Harry pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses against the blond's neck, sliding his slender hands up Draco's nightshirt and running them over the warm skin. Tentatively, he brushed his fingers over the Slytherin's nipples, causing Draco to stiffen with a gasp, bucking instinctively against Harry as they both moaned loudly. Harry thought it was a wonder that neither of them had had an orgasm yet.

    "Harry..." Draco finally groaned, placing a few final, searing kisses against Harry's skin before he pulled away slowly. He rested their foreheads together and for a time they just stood silently, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, hot breaths mingling in soft pants as they gained some control over their bodies. Draco's hands still grasped the soft swell of Harry's arse and Draco's nightshirt was bunched up around Harry's wrists as he laid his hands against the blond's chest, fingers idly stroking the warm skin.

    Finally, Draco's molten silver eyes opened and in the light of his wand (which had dropped on the floor at some point but was still lit), he locked eyes with Harry's warm, glazed emeralds. He found the small flush that covered the Gryffindor's cheeks simultaneously endearing and erotic, and he quickly closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead to distract himself. Harry sighed at the feelings that swept over him at this; no one except himself had ever touched his scar (well, except Voldemort, but Harry refused to even think about that painful, revolting experience), and to have it kissed in such a loving way with Draco's soft lips was incredible.

    "Merlin..." he whispered huskily, dazed. Their heated snog seemed to have come out of nowhere, but now he wasn't complaining. Draco agreed, if his breathless chuckle was any indication.

    "My name's Draco, Harry," he murmured, his own voice low. "But I agree. We should stop now before we get too excited and complete the bond tonight."

    Harry flushed, embarrassed but pleased that he could make the blond lose control in such a way. He nodded reluctantly, trailing his fingers down Draco's lightly-muscled chest and letting his fingertips catch on Draco's pajama bottoms before raising a hand and self-consciously running it through his own hair. Draco's eyes fluttered closed at the sensation and he gave Harry's arse one last squeeze before stepping back, his eyes opening and a mischievous smile playing about his reddened lips.

    "Well well, who knew that Saint Potter could be such a tease?" Harry scowled and blushed.

    "You have no right to talk, you're the one that started it!" He shot back.

    "Yeah, and I was the one that had to end it."

    "Jerk."

    "Prat."

    "Wanker."

    "Gryffindor."  
    "That's hardly an insult." Harry smirked, tilting his nose up arrogantly. The next moment he yelped in surprise as Draco, who was still close to him, darted forward and had him pinned to the wall again.

    "Cheeky brat," the youngest Malfoy growled into his ear. "I can make you cum right now and you could do nothing to stop me." He nibbled on the ear and pressed his hips against Harry's to emphasize his point. A deep flush rose up through Harry's neck and face at the erotic words, a moan ripped from him unbidden as lust pounded through his body once more.

   Draco knew that it was true, too. While he was still a virgin, the Slytherin had "been around the block," so to speak, and had made many of his partners climax through touch alone. It had taken some practice of course, which was why rumors about his sex life tended to run rampant even though he had never technically had sex. Still, he knew he could make the Gryffindor (who he was sure had never even been kissed before, much less had sex) cream his pants within minutes, and what surprised him so much was that Draco might join him. The blond had never had much of a connection or "relationship" with his partners and often he left the encounter unsatisfied, but he was finding that Harry's touch, as inexperienced as it was, was affecting him just as much as his touch was affecting the Gryffindor. For the first time, he was nearly ready to climax after only minutes of dalliance, and that both confused and scared him.

    "Ah! D-Draco... stop..." At Harry's panted words, as if he had said a spell, Draco was gone, stepping away from Harry completely and smirking when Harry slid down the wall with a surprised yelp and a thump as his watery legs gave way. Harry scowled up at him and pouted.  

    "You're really sadistic, you know that? Do all Slytherin's do this to people they like?"

    "Only to people that deserve it for being so insolent to their elders and betters."

    "Oh, so you're my better now, are you?"

    "Certainly. At least _I_ have some margin of control over my own body."

    "Can I help it if I get a bit carried away? I'm sort of new to this, in case you haven't noticed."

    "It's sort of _hard_ not to," Draco said dryly, smirking. "Have you cooled down yet, Potter?"

    Harry flushed, glad to note that he had, indeed, returned to normal in all areas as they spoke. Still, it was bloody annoying that Draco made fun of him so much. "You really do hate me, don't you?"

    "..."

   Silence settled in the room at his words, suddenly tense. Harry glanced up, confused, to see Draco take a step forward and look down at him. His expression was intense but unreadable, all bantering forgotten, and Harry felt his mouth go dry.

    "Yes, I do."

    Harry blinked, unsure if he had heard right. "What?"

    "I hate you, Harry." He repeated, looking completely serious. "I hate you for your courage and _Gryffindor_ ness, I hate you for rejecting my friendship when we met on the train, I hate you for forcing me to hate you even when I didn't want to, I hate you for succeeding every time I fail, I hate you for proving me wrong whenever I think I'm right, I hate you for being stronger and more confident than I am, I hate you for knowing what you believe and standing up for it, I hate you for always being there, and I hate you for changing my world every time you smile."

    "T-then... why are you here with me?" Harry whispered, mind whirling. It hurt him more than he thought possible to hear Draco say those words, almost like a physical blow to the stomach. All the pain, uncertainty, and worthlessness he had felt when he woke up was back, worse than before. He couldn't understand it. Did Draco accept him just so that the Savior of the Wizarding World wouldn't die? As an obligation? Did their snog only minutes ago mean nothing to him? Was he just using Harry's "condition" for his own gain?

    Draco crouched until they were eye-to-eye and Harry's breath hitched when he smelled that clean scent that only belonged to Draco. His eyes pooled with tears, thinking that Draco's rejection meant that he would never be able to be close enough to smell that scent again. Harry was so distressed that he almost missed Draco next, quiet words. Almost.

    "I'm here because there is a fine line, Harry. A very fine line."

    And he leaned forward and kissed him.

    Harry froze. His mind was barely able to process what Draco had said and what it meant. When it finally did, all of his confusion and uncertainty vanished and Harry closed his eyes as he surrendered himself to the joy and pleasure that nearly overwhelmed him. The kiss, his first kiss, was gentle but insistent, Draco's soft lips moving over his frozen ones with certainty. It wasn't what he had expected from the passionate blond, and he hesitated for a split second before he kissed back.

    Apparently Draco had only been gentle at first in order to let Harry make his decision, because as Harry tentatively kissed back, Draco dropped his knees to the cold floor, one between Harry's legs, and pressed forward. Harry felt the coldness of the hard stone against his back and butt, a sharp contrast to the soft, blazing warmth in front of him and he moaned as Draco cupped his cheek. Hesitantly, running on instinct and not entirely sure what he was doing, Harry opened his mouth a little and let his small tongue slide across Draco's bottom lip. Draco froze for a split second in surprise and Harry held his breath, unsure if he had done something wrong, but then the blond let out a groan and suddenly the passion that Draco had been restraining was unleashed.

    Draco tilted his head and opened his mouth, letting his own tongue slide over Harry's and take complete control over the kiss. The kiss was suddenly hot and passionate, fierce and bruising, punctuated by low moans, gasps, and soft panting as the more experienced of the two took over. Draco buried a hand in Harry's hair, exploring the hot cavern of the petite boy's mouth before he gently sucked Harry's full bottom lip into his mouth and nibbled on it gently. Harry gasped and whimpered, clutching Draco's nightshirt as if his life depended on it. Draco released the bruised and swollen flesh with a final lick and trailed his burning touch down to Harry's jaw to give the Gryffindor a chance to catch his breath.

    Then he was back and stroking his tongue slowly over Harry's lip, encouraging them to gain him access. Harry opened his mouth without hesitation this time and was rewarded with Draco practically snatching his tongue and suckling it gently, nipping the tip playfully and drawing a strangled yelp and a moan from Harry. Draco's mouth was like heaven, smooth and hot, with a slight hint of mint and Harry groaned again, hardly able to believe this was happening. He had to be dreaming; there was no way that such pleasure could be real, not when Harry's life was so full of pain and disappointment.

    Finally, Draco pulled back a little and once again they were forehead-to-forehead, panting harshly and sharing quick, small kisses as they tried to catch their breath.

    "That was... incredible," Harry murmured huskily, his voice shaking very slightly. Draco smirked playfully.

    "Of course it was. Practice makes perfect, right? And I've had lots of practice; I'm a Malfoy, after all." Harry's eyes, still darkened with lust to a deep forest green, narrowed a bit and he didn't smile. The sharp bite of jealousy and possessiveness surprised him, and he quickly beat it back. It wasn't as if he was Draco's spouse, or lover for that matter, so what did it matter to him if Draco had snogged a lot before he became Harry's mate? It shouldn't matter at all.

    But it did.

    Draco seemed to be able to read Harry's mind and he inwardly rolled his eyes with a silent groan and a plea for the gods to save him from jealous Gryffindors. He trailed his hand down the side of Harry's neck to the point of his chin, prompting Harry to look up into his eyes. "Relax, Harry," Draco said quietly. "Mostly, it was just for show; for my father and the rest of the Slytherins. I won't be snogging with anyone else now, I promise. I may not be fair, nice, or fluffy, but I _am_ honest, and I _always_ keep my promises. Okay?"

    Harry stared at him, something akin to awe in his eyes. He had never seen Draco speak so passionately in anything but anger or lust, and it sent a thrill down his spine. Impulsively, he sprang forward and wrapped his thin arms around the Slytherin's slender neck, crushing his lips to Draco's in a fiercely hot kiss with the hopes of communicating his feelings. After a muffled yelp of surprise, Draco responded enthusiastically to the unexpected kiss and for several long moments there was only the sound of soft moans and pants. Finally, Harry pulled away, licking his swollen lips and smiling.

    "That's definitely okay."

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an army formed.

    Harry was somewhat glad for the distraction of Quidditch starting up again (they had managed to get their team reinstated), since he hadn't been able to stop himself from blushing slightly whenever he happened to catch Draco's eye or glancing at the blond every so often in the classes they had together. It was extremely embarrassing, especially after his friends had noticed and (except for Ron and Hermione) thought that he had a crush on one of the Slytherins. It had taken him some time to quell _that_ rumor before it got out to the rest of the school. It didn't help that he had to wear a scarf for days in order to hide the hickey Draco had given him.

    Perhaps this new step in Harry's relationship with Draco was a good omen, for it was only the next day that another large problem was solved. Then again, another problem emerged simultaneously, so it was more likely that Harry's bad luck was still holding out.

    That night after Quidditch practice, Harry had, as per usual, showered by himself in one of the private shower stalls and had just opened his locker to put away his towel and dirty clothes for the house elves when pain lanced across his scar. Yelping, he closed his eyes tightly and slapped a hand to his forehead.

    "You alright there, Harry?" Someone asked nervously. Fred. Or maybe George. Harry opened his eyes and lowered his hand, blushing slightly in embarrassment.

    "Sorry, just forgot an essay for Snape," he lied, glancing at Ron significantly. The redhead nodded in understanding, and Harry went back to packing up his things, moving quicker now. Ron, much to everyone's surprise, had made the team as Keeper and had been ecstatic about it for weeks, even though he tended to get nervous in front of others. Harry was happy for him, however, and they walked closely together as the team moved back up to the castle.

    "What happened? Was it your scar?" Ron asked. Harry nodded shortly, eyes flat and hard. "But...He - he can't be near us now, can he?"

    "No, I would be able to tell if he was nearby." Harry replied, watching the grass pass beneath their feet. "He's miles away. This time... this time, he was angry, frustrated." He rubbed a finger across his scar absently. It had hurt more fiercely than it had in weeks. Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Voldemort was in a towering temper.

    "Did you see him?" Ron asked, looking terrified. "Did you... get a vision or something?"

    The Boy-Who-Lived shook his head. "No, not really, most of the time I just feel some of his strongest emotions. Snatches of thought, feelings, you know? This time... this time it was because he was frustrated. He wanted to get something done and it wasn't happening fast enough."

    Glancing up, he saw that Ron was gaping at him.

    "You could take over for Trelawney, mate," he said, awed.

    "I'm not making prophecies," Harry snapped, offended. Both of the Trelawney prophecies that were now dictating his life were still somewhat of a sensitive topic for him, but Ron didn't seem to notice.

    "No, you know what you're doing?" Ron said, sounding both scared and impressed. "Harry, you're _reading_ You-Know-Who's mind _..._ "

    Harry let out a sharp bark of bitter laughter. "So what else is new?" He muttered. They fell silent as they approached the castle, seeing the Slytherin team emerging to play on the pitch after them. Harry felt that cursed blush steal over his cheeks as he caught sight of the familiar pale blond head, but just as he met Draco's emotionless grey eyes, his scar exploded with pain. Eyes widening and the blood draining from his face, Harry staggered, colliding with Ron before he backed away from his teammates. He bent over, clutching his scar tightly as a strangled cry of pain was wrenched from his throat.

    Distantly, he heard several cries of surprise and panic, Ron's voice closer than the others, but he couldn't spare the time to respond. He was frantically trying to sort out and memorize the jumble of images, sounds, and thoughts that were being crammed into his brain.

    Draco's face paled and a flicker of concern and fear passed through his eyes as he remembered the vision Harry had had only a week before summer's end. The horror of those few minutes, when Voldemort's silky voice had come from Harry's throat, were best forgotten and he didn't want to experience it again, much less in front of a group of Slytherins. He snapped at the Chaser next to him, a third-year, to get Snape or another teacher and went back to staring at Harry impassively, praying that he would be okay.

    After several moments of extreme pain that felt like hours, Harry was finally released from Voldemort's mind and he collapsed to his knees with a gasp of relief. Wavering, he dropped down onto his hands and knees, letting his pounding head hang loosely. It felt like his mind had been raped, ground into mush, and poured back into his skull. Mere seconds after he had collapsed, however, Harry felt a thin, bony hand grasp his elbow tightly and yank him onto his feet. Blinking, he let his eyes focus on the grim, pale visage of the Potion's Master and immediately winced, leaning back a bit. Snape just tightened his grip, looking him over carefully. 

    "Potter! What happened?"

    Harry shook his head warningly, massaging his temples with shaking hands. "Not here," he hissed, glancing at his pale, frightened teammates, with the Slytherin team crowded behind them. Snape snorted with impatience and practically dragged the green-eyed boy after him. Harry nearly had to jog to keep up with the tall man, wincing as his brain jarred with every step, and when they entered the Hospital Wing, he flinched at Poppy's shriek of

protest at the way Snape was handling him. Harry sat down heavily on his bed and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his tingling scar absently.

    "Well, Potter? Is this private enough?" Snape asked sarcastically, standing with his arms crossed and glaring down his hawk nose at Harry. Before Harry could reply, Minerva McGonagall burst through the doors, face pale and lips pressed tightly together.

    "What's this I hear about Potter?" She asked sharply. Harry sighed, shaking his head impatiently.

    "I'm _fine_ -" He pointedly ignored all three of their snorts at this, "Voldemort was just pissed off about something. It startled me, that's all."

    "It 'startled' you enough for you to have to take another post-Cruciatus," Poppy tutted shrewdly, shoving a beaker into his trembling hands. Harry rolled his eyes and downed the drought without hesitation. Immediately his body calmed.

    "All better? Very well, thank you Poppy, but I'm afraid that I must take Mr. Potter to my office to give his report," McGonagall said briskly, shooting Snape a pointed look as she grasped Harry's elbow and tugged him off the bed. Harry was beginning to feel like a toy doll being yanked around, but he ignored the feeling as Snape shot him an unreadable, calculating look before he sniffed and left the Infirmary with a swirl of his robes.

    Madame Pomfrey protested Harry's leaving, but his Head of House insisted that it was necessary, and so the nurse gave up after making sure that he felt alright. He barely had enough time to reassure her before he was being led silently down the sparsely-populated hallways to McGonagall's office. Letting him enter first, she wasted no time in setting up several wards and silencing charms before sitting down behind her desk and motioning for him to sit in the chair in front of her. Oddly, she seemed almost uncomfortable as she looked at him, but her voice was steady and nearly emotionless when she spoke.

    "Now then, Mr. Potter, I'm sure you're aware that it would be unwise for the Headmaster to appear as anything other than your Headmaster with that blasted woman here. With the circumstances as they are, he has asked me to receive your... reports if situations such as these arise. As your Head of House, our meetings are less suspicious and Albus will view my memories of our meeting later, so it will be as if you were speaking directly to him. Now, if you will tell me what happened..."

    Harry hesitated for a moment, watching the older woman carefully and studying the emotions in her eyes. Regret, worry, anger, tiredness, and something akin to respect were there, and he quickly made his decision. He emotionlessly described what had happened in detail, never looking away from her face, imagining Dumbledore's wise eyes sparkling back at him. He barely noticed the horror and pity growing in her eyes as he described the snatches of thought and images that had been shoved in his brain.

    "When Voldemort became so frustrated that his shields slipped, a large, tangled bundle of information was just shoved at me through our connection. If you remember, sir, Voldemort had invited some guests to join in on the meeting where he cursed Nott. I hadn't seen Heilman or Xu Chi in any of my visions since, until now. From what I could gather, Heilman had agreed to gather more supporters in Germany and to begin a small branch of Death Eaters that would gather information and artifacts helpful to Voldemort. But the work is slow, slower than Voldemort would like.

    "He still wants the artifact that Nott had been assigned to get, but he doesn't have enough Death Eaters to launch a full attack on the Department of Mysteries, much less the Ministry of Magic. He wants to use the special... 'skills' that Heilman and Xu Chi have as the catalyst that could obtain the object." He sent McGonagall an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know what skills the foreigners have that make them so special; Voldemort rarely thinks about them, and when he does it's mostly about how helpful they can be.

    "But I do know that even though Heilman is taking a long time, Voldemort doesn't dare curse him. It's more than Heilman just being too valuable to risk alienating... it almost borders on fear, if that's possible. There's something about Heilman that Voldemort doesn't want to piss off. Other than that... there was nothing else clear enough to be helpful." Abruptly, his expression changed from solemn to smiling. "By the way Professor, I know that Sirius and Remus wanted to have me at Grimmauld Place for the holidays. If that's alright, can I take Draco with me?"

    McGonagall sniffed and looked sternly at him. "I am not some sort of muggle telephone, Mr. Potter."

    Harry just smiled, a little nervous. "Er... right, I knew that. I just thought that, well, since you're here... Right, well, I've got to, um, do something right now... I'll see you tomorrow, Professor." He beat a hasty retreat, waving his hand at the door in passing to drop all of the wards and charms.

    The rest of the day, Harry stayed out of view as much as possible. Not only were people staring at him, they were also not taking much care to whisper when they wondered what had happened to him on the Quidditch pitch. It was just like last year, when Rita Skeeter had been printing those articles about him, and Harry couldn't help but feel a little bitter about that.

    However, he found new incentive to forget all of the rumors, in the form of Dobby, surprisingly. The house elf had been instructed to return Hedwig to him, perfectly healed, and Harry had been struck by a brilliant idea. After asking Dobby if there was a room that he could teach thirty people in without teachers knowing, the house elf had happily responded that there was such a room. The "come and go room" as the house elves had dubbed it, seemed to be a room that would become whatever anyone wanted if they paced three times in front of it. Harry had thanked the elf gratefully, glad that something was finally going in his favor.

    Hermione was ecstatic with the news and during lunch the next day, they checked out the Room of Requirement (as Hermione had discovered it was called after a furious bout of reading in _Hogwarts, A History_ ). In the seventh-floor corridor, across from the painting of Barnabus the Barmy, there was a blank space of stone wall. Uncertainly, Harry fixed an image of what he wanted the room to look like in his mind and began pacing. After the third pass, a door suddenly appeared out in the middle of the blank wall. Ron gaped and Hermione gasped in surprise before they shared a look and Harry reached forward to open the door.

    "Blimey..." Ron breathed as the door swung open easily. The room was impressive; it was almost as large as the Entrance Hall, with shelves of books lining two walls, chalkboards lining one wall, and weapons lining the last one. The floor in front of the latter was actually a training mat and there were comfortable chairs and silk pillows on the floor near the bookshelves. It was nearly perfect for both training and teaching, and from Hermione's awed expression, it seemed that she thought so too.

    "It's perfect, Harry!" She exclaimed, rushing to the bookshelves and peering at their covers. "I haven't even heard of some of these Defense books! Oh, this changes everything! Our curriculum, our style of teaching... we can do anything in this room!"

    "Yeah, but we've got to keep this a secret," Harry warned as he wandered over to the weapon side of the room and idly scanned the armory there. "We can't have everyone knowing about the Room of Requirement; who knows what some people would do with a room that can supply anything they want? Dobby told me that we can't take anything out of the room, but that doesn't stop someone from studying an endless supply of Dark Arts books."

    Idly, he picked up one of the swords from its stand on the wall, feeling its heft and balance carefully. He wasn't too experienced with the longer swords yet, but he could wield one of these shorter Katana-like blades quite well by now. Standing still for a moment, thinking of what he wanted in his mind, Harry let a small smile creep over his face when he heard the rustle behind him indicating that the Room had provided it. Ignoring his friends' warning cries, he turned swiftly with a graceful sidestep, avoiding the blade aimed at his head. In front of him was a simple training dummy made of straw, holding its sword in an offensive position as it regained its balance and charged.

    Shacklebolt had taught Harry using much more complex and subtle attacks and even though Harry hadn't participated much at the end of the summer, he had still learned a great deal. He easily blocked the blow and angled his blade down, making the other blade slide down to the ground and unbalancing his opponent. Quickly, Harry slid around and before the dummy could react, he swiped his blade cleanly through the straw torso. In a burst of straw that quickly settled to the ground and vanished, Harry carefully wiped the blade of any lingering straw and replaced it on the wall.

    As if nothing had happened, he walked over to one of the bookshelves by the weapons and continued browsing. He could hear Hermione sputtering in a mix of anger and relief and Ron merely crowed out an awed, "Bloody hell, mate, that was brilliant! Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

    "At training, Ron. I've been doing things like that for a while now and don't worry, Hermione, I knew exactly what I was doing." He let out a small sigh when this just set Hermione off about irresponsibility and sharp objects, which then drew Ron into an argument about what kind of training would be helpful for Harry. If this is how they responded every time they saw some of the things he knew how to do, then they really _weren't_ ready to learn about everything he could and would be able to do. It tore at his heart to do so, but Harry knew that he would have to continue holding things from his friends until they grew up a bit more. He just hoped that they would grow up fast; he needed them.

   

* * *

 

   That night was the first meeting of the "club" that Hermione had organized. Hermione had gathered up a list of about thirty-five people who would definitely want to join the secret club and Harry had quickly memorized it before having Zephyr scan them to see if they were trustworthy or not. Seven people had been struck off the list as he went throughout the week and Zephyr insisted that the rest were valuable and trustworthy members that were (or would be) loyal to him.

   Harry had told Draco about the club and though the Slytherin had no problem letting Harry run it ("It's your neck you're risking," he had said with a shrug), they had both agreed that it would be best if Draco wouldn't join immediately. Not only was he not trusted, but the risk of their relationship being exposed would be too great to even bother considering. It bothered Harry that Draco wasn't learning things that he could use to protect himself, but he contented himself with the reminder that Draco _was_ a Malfoy and probably knew a whole lot more Dark curses than Harry did.

   So, that night the prospective members were contacted and told where to meet (while the rejected ones would be told the next day that the club was not going to start up at all), and Harry, Hermione, and Ron summoned the Room of Requirement thirty minutes early. They discussed the upcoming meeting and future "lesson" plans as they waited for everyone to arrive, but as time moved on Harry became more and more quiet, feeling his insides twist nervously.

   He still thought of himself as the invisible, scrawny little boy that everyone ignored or beat up, and the idea that he was now going to train twenty-eight fellow students to defend themselves was mind-boggling. What if they didn't like how he taught? What if they didn't listen to him? What would happen to them if they were caught? What if-

   Harry didn't have any more time to silently panic, because the door of the room suddenly opened and people began entering, chattering excitedly, staring around in awe, and scrutinizing Harry himself. First came Neville with Dean and Lavender, who were closely followed by Pavarti and Padma Patil with Cho and one of her usually giggling girlfriends, then (on her own and looking so dreamy that she might have walked in by accident) Luna Lovegood; then Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, and a Hufflepuff girl with a long plait down her back whose name Harry didn't know; three Ravenclaw boys named Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot; Ginny, followed by a member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and bringing up the rear, Fred and George with their friend Lee Jordan.

    Harry was a little unnerved that he didn't recognize everyone, but with the list that Hermione discreetly passed him, he was able to put names to faces as they all entered and sat on the soft, silk cushions that littered the floor in front of the small platform that Harry was standing on. There was a small table at the center of the platform that Harry - seemingly casual - leaned on, with Hermione standing next to him wringing her hands nervously as she cleared her throat for attention. From what they had worked out, she would give a sort of introduction before letting Harry take over. Harry hoped his stomach would stop writhing by then.

    "Er - W-welcome everyone," Hermione said, her voice a bit higher than normal, "welcome to the introductory meeting of this Defense Against the Dark Arts club. Well, it's not really a club, it's more an actual class since that - that _rubbish_ that Umbridge is spewing is hardly _real_ Defense. Anyway, you all pretty much know why you're here - it's not just because we need to pass our OWLs, it's also because, well..." she trailed off, a little shaken, but then she gathered her Gryffindor courage and finished firmly, "we need to learn this because Lord Voldemort is back and we need to be able-"

    Predictably, her words were nearly drowned out by the gasps and small cries that broke out at Voldemort's name and though his emotionless expression didn't change, Harry was sighing at the pathetic absurdity of it all. It was even worse that they were now watching him eagerly as if expecting him to elaborate. Instead, he wordlessly set off a small bang at the front of the room and everyone fell silent. Hermione sent him a quick, grateful glance and continued.

    "Oh, honestly, it's just a silly name. It's not like he'll just jump up out of nowhere and kill you for saying his name," she huffed. " _Anyway,_ I was saying that we need to learn this because we need to be able to protect ourselves as well as our family and friends. After all, what if Death Eaters attacked your home during the holidays? You've got to do something - underage laws be damned - and you've got to be able to do more than just disarm them with a second-year spell!"

    "Hear hear!" cried several people, and Hermione looked heartened.

    "Now, to get down to business. This club was mostly my idea, but Harry has graciously agreed to teach us some of what he knows, since he has more experience than all the other students in the school - and probably Umbridge - combined." Everyone's eyes fixed on Harry at this and he silently cursed Hermione in his mind. She didn't notice. "Now, you all know that Umbridge really has it in for him for some reason, so I hope you realize that he's taking a huge risk doing this for us. The way that - that _woman_ is going, she could probably get him expelled. So, I hope you realize that these meetings need to be of the utmost secrecy and, er, as a... security measure, I've got this list of all of your names that I'll pass around. I want everyone to sign the parchment next to your name, sort of as a roll."

    There was a stir at this, a murmur of surprise and uncertainty sweeping through the room, but Hermione passed the parchment to the nearest person without hesitating. The person happened to be the blond Hufflepuff who played Quidditch and he sniffed, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the parchment before moving almost accusingly to Harry. From the sinking of his stomach, Harry knew this one would be a problem.

    "Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" he said suddenly in a rather mean voice. There was a collective intake of breath at the boy's audacity and Harry tensed slightly. He forced himself to relax, however, and just met the boy's challenging gaze calmly as Hermione tried to field the question.

    "Well, Dumbledore believes it-" she began stiffly, but was interrupted again.

    "You mean, Dumbledore believes _him._ " This was said with a nod at Harry, who didn't react.

    "Who are _you_?" Ron said rather rudely.

    "Zacharias Smith, and I think we've got a right to know what makes _him_ say You-Know-Who's back."

    "Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "that's not really what this meeting's about-"

    "It's okay, Hermione," Harry said quietly. Suddenly, all of the butterflies in his stomach abruptly vanished and he felt completely calm in his certainty of what these people wanted. Most of them were too awed or too polite to say it out loud and, though it was irksome, Harry felt a bit of respect for Smith for taking the initiative. They wanted proof, motivation. His intensely green eyes swept over the group before focusing fully on Zacharias Smith once more. "I think that's enough of an introduction. What makes me say 'You-Know-Who' is back? There are lots of things - the fact that I _saw_ him; Cedric Diggory's death; the nightmares; the death count that has suddenly sky-rocketed... But none of that is really relevant to your question since they don't matter to you anyway. You want proof - a Pensieve full of my memories, perhaps, or a personal visit with the Dark Lord - proof that I'm not insane, that Dumbledore is not playing favorites, that _Voldemort_ is back to kill everyone associated with a muggleborn _._ "

    Zacharias opened his mouth as if to say something, but Harry spoke before he could. "Unfortunately, even if I did have proof, you probably wouldn't believe me if you don't believe me now, and I'm not going to waste my time trying to convince you. If you want to know what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone, you should probably clear out now because you've come to the wrong place." He let his eyes drift over everyone in the room, and several people shivered at the intensity of his gaze. The room was silent, hanging on his every quiet word. "Very rarely will I mention my experiences in this room; I'm here only to teach you how to survive, so if you're here to learn to protect yourselves and your family, sign the parchment. If you just came for story time with crazy Harry Potter, then I'll happily send you on your way with an _Obliviate_ and a headache potion."

    There was a few strained chuckles, but they quickly died when they realized he was serious. There was a long silence for a moment as Zacharias reluctantly put his name down on the parchment and passed it along. As the list worked its way through the room with no more problems, the girl with a long plait down her back suddenly spoke up.

    "Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?"

    There was a murmur of interest at this and Harry smiled slightly as the tension in the room relaxed.

    "Yes," he said simply.

    "A corporeal Patronus?"

    Bemused, Harry asked, "Er, what's your name?"

    "I'm Susan Bones," she said smiling. "My auntie, Madam Bones, is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she heard from one of the Aurors who heard it from old Professor Lupin that your Patronus is a stag. Is it true?" She said all of this in one breath and Harry was reminded of Hermione in the early days.

    "Yes, that's true," he said amusedly. The Auror was probably Tonks blabbing about him again; she had once told her coworkers that Harry's old boxers had been so thin that they was almost see-through and he had had to gather the excess fabric in a bunch and tie a piece of twine around it to hold them up. He had blanched in horror when she had told him this and the fact that it was true had just made the whole thing even worse.

    "Blimey, Harry!" Lee was saying, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew that!"

    "Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, grinning at Harry. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

    "She's not wrong," Harry mumbled and a couple of people laughed.

    "And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" demanded Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year..."

     "Yeah, I did," Harry said.

    Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled, the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks, and Lavender Brown said "wow" softly. Harry was definitely feeling a bit flushed with embarrassment by now and he sent Hermione a pleading glance, but she just shrugged helplessly. Inwardly rolling his eyes, Harry held up a hand.

    "Hey!" he said mock-sternly, though the lingering blush on his face took any sting out of his words. "I've already went over this with Ron and Hermione; I've had a lot of help with the stuff I've done... and I'm not saying that to try and sound modest or anything. It's the truth. The point is that it doesn't matter _what_ I've done; I just want to teach you so that you can protect your loved ones if you have to."

    At this point, the parchment had finished being passed around and Hermione stepped up again. Harry resumed his position in the background to let his blush fade. "Right, well if we've all agreed to learn from Harry, then we ought to set up a meeting time," she said. "I really don't think-"

    "Hang on," said Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

    "Or with ours," Cho and Zacharias Smith simultaneously.

    "Well, I'm sure that we can find a night that suits everyone," said Hermione, slightly impatiently. "What will be a real problem is the ridiculous detentions that Umbridge gives Harry-"

    Ernie Macmillan broke in rather loudly. "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells-"

    "We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts," interrupted Hermione, "is that she's got some... some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."

    "Well that's bloody stupid of her, isn't it?" Lee Jordan muttered.

    "She's certainly not known for her intelligence, is she?" Hermione said matter-of-factly. "Anyway, back to the schedule... We figured that it would be really chaotic trying to work around Harry's detentions, so I've made up these..." She held up a fake Galleon. "Now, these aren't real Galleons, so don't try to spend them. I used the Protean Charm to change the serial numbers on the edge of the coin, so you can see the date and time there. Harry has the master coin, so when we have a free night that doesn't conflict with anything, he just changes the date on his coin, which will cause all of your coins to get warm and change serial numbers. Do you all understand?"

    There was a general murmur of assent and quite a few impressed glances to the brilliant witch. Harry watched proudly as she passed out the coins; after all, the Protean Charm was extremely difficult and probably wasn't even in the Hogwarts curriculum. Harry straightened up and cleared his throat, causing the room to quiet and attention to swing back to him.

    "I think that we should end the meeting before we run past curfew, but I wanted to remind everyone how important it is that these meetings are kept _secret_." He stressed the word, meeting everyone's eyes as he looked around the room. "There is more than points or expulsion on the line; this may be our only chance to learn how to defend ourselves for the rest of the year... maybe even longer if the Ministry keeps ignoring Voldemort's return. Out of everyone who was interested in joining this class, only you twenty-eight were accepted. That means that no one else will know of these meetings and those who were rejected will be told tomorrow that I refused to teach and Hermione dropped the idea.

    "You will be the elite of the school," Harry continued with an ironic quirk of his lips as his eyes darted across Neville and the Creevey brothers, who were watching him with rapt expressions. "This 'club' will not be easy; it will _not_ be a study group where we learn about new spells, but it _will_ be more than just practicing. What you will be doing is re-learning everything you think you know about magic. The things I plan to teach you will cover several different kinds of magic: Transfiguration, Potions, History of Magic, History of Dark Arts... In between, you will work on physical fitness, stealth, reasoning; skills that could save your life one day.

    "After all... I'm _not_ going to teach you all how to fight." Harry held up a hand, quieting the surprised murmurs that erupted through the group. "This class is a substitute for _Defense_ _Against the Dark Arts_ , and defense is all I'm going to teach you. At this point, you don't need to know how to attack and kill Death Eaters; all you need to be concerned about is staying alive until you can get away or until help arrives."

    "So you're going to be teaching us how to run away?" Zacharias Smith said contemptuously. "What, are you trying to weasel out of teaching us real fighting?" Ron quickly had to be restrained from storming over to the blond Hufflepuff, but Harry just met his eyes calmly.

    "Only the ignorant would call it 'running away', but yeah, you could call it that. In general, what I'm going to teach you is how to _survive_. If you want to learn how to attack and kill Death Eaters, then you can become an Auror after you graduate. I won't teach you how to kill. But don't worry, we won't even have enough time to get through everything you need to learn _this_ year, much less try and start a section on offensive spells. Now, I think we should really get going... er, we'll try to aim for at least once a week, so keep your coins close. Right, everyone's got to leave in small groups so that Umbridge doesn't get suspicious..."

    Everyone began standing up and stretching, chattering among themselves as they waited for their group's turn to leave. Quite a few people came up to Harry to thank him and ask him about the room. He just winked and said that it was a secret, which they seemed to accept easily enough. As each group left, Harry watched them return to their common rooms with the Marauder's Map, tense as a bowstring. His friends exchanged knowing looks and smiles behind his back as he unknowingly let out a breath of relief when each one made it back safely. When there was only Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Lee left, Harry allowed himself to relax and drop his head in his hands with a groan.

    "How was it?" he asked worriedly. "D'you think I covered everything?"

    "You were brilliant, mate," Ron said encouragingly, punching him on the shoulder. Harry flinched reflexively. Hermione nodded excitedly in agreement.

    "Oh, you were wonderful, Harry! You're a natural."

    "Yeah, didn't know that our Harrykins could be so grown up and serious," Fred said. "I got shivers down my spine every time you looked at me. And not the good kind of shivers, mind."

    "Speak for yourself, brother. In case you haven't noticed, our little Harry is growing into quite the catch. Sexy _and_ powerful, hmm?" George said with a seductive wink in Harry's direction. Harry blinked in shock, a blush spreading over his cheeks, before he grinned and winked back jokingly. Ron looked distinctly green in the face, but Hermione was giggling.

    "I don't know about that," Lee said with a strange look at the twins, "but I sure could've pounded that Smith kid into the ground for you, Harry. What a wanker!"

    "Yeah, we should kick him out," Ron said angrily.

    "Don't worry about him," Harry sighed tiredly. "I let him in for a reason; I think he'll be really loyal and valuable once he gets his priorities straightened out, so don't alienate him by - by turning him into a turkey or whatever you want to do when you see him."

    "If you say so, Harry," Ron said uncertainly, "but if he keeps making smart comments like today, then he'll have to deal with me."

   

* * *

 

   The next few weeks passed quickly, punctuated by several more meetings of what was now known as Dumbledore's Army. At the start of their second meeting, Hermione had brought up the idea of a name to promote unity and to be able to reference the group outside of the Room of Requirement without sounding suspicious. After all, Umbridge had banned all "student organizations" with Educational Decree #23 only days before their first meeting, and they didn't want to be caught so soon.

    Many had suggested names such as "The Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group", but Cho had gotten quite a bit of approval with her suggestion of "Defense Association" (DA for short). However, Ginny Weasley had taken the idea a step further by pointing out that the Ministry was afraid of a student army, so they could be named Dumbledore's Army. There was a great deal of appreciative murmuring and laughs at this, so Hermione had formally taken a vote and had written the name at the top of one of the chalkboards.

   Harry had started the group off with the Disarming charm. This had been met with some confusion and disappointment (mostly voiced by Zacharias Smith), but Harry had been adamant. As time passed, however, even Zacharias had to admit that mastering the spell had improved the power of it and his aim in general. Harry had taken to Remus' style of teaching in that he let everyone pair up and practice with each other as he walked around to each group and helped each person individually. The group improved dramatically under his careful and patient tutelage and he quickly moved them on to different spells, mixing everything up a bit. So far, they were still working on spells that they had learned in previous years.

    Rumors about Harry continued to die and fall, but despite them even more girls seemed to approach him each week.

    "I don't know why you're so surprised, Harry," Hermione had said reasonably one night after he groaned when another second year left the common room in tears. "You've always been cute in an orphaned-little-brother sort of way, but after last year girls are starting to see you as the real catch that you are. You're brave, good-looking, friendly, powerful, famous, _and_ rich; what do you suspect? Especially after this summer. I mean, you know what happened to change you, but it was a surprise to everyone else. You're hair is shinier, your eyes brighter and clearer without those glasses, your skin is still smooth and soft, and your voice is prettier than a phoenix's-"

    "Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, his face burning a bright red. He shrank in his seat, wishing that he knew a spell that would make him disappear into it. Ron's ears and face had become steadily redder with each attribute she named off with that infuriatingly calm voice. "Are you mad? I'm not a girl; I do _not_ want to hear that my skin is 'smooth and soft'!"

    "Yeah!" Ron said angrily. "What are you doing, thinking about Harry like- like that?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

    "Oh calm down. Honestly, didn't you think that all the girls here would notice that?" She rounded on the redhead next to her. "And besides, _Ron_ , I'm a girl too and I'm allowed to think about boys just like the way you think about girls!"

    Ron's face blanched to the color of oatmeal. "Y-you mean... you think about _Harry_ that- _that_ way?" He choked out, and Harry blanched as well.

    "Oh, _honestly_!" she huffed, exasperated. "Of _course_ not, he's like my brother! I'm just saying that I'm a girl too and I notice things like that, just like everyone else! Merlin, Ron, how can you be so dense?" Throwing up her hands, Hermione stomped from the room, leaving Harry and Ron to stare at each other in lingering horror and bewilderment.

    "Bloody hell," Ron said blankly. "What was that all about?"

    Harry hadn't said it then, but he knew what Hermione was trying to do. She had probably been trying to get Ron to notice that she was a girl for ages, but the redhead was just too thick to realize it without a large sign being attached to Hermione's back. Despite his reputation, Harry was actually pretty observant when it came to his fellow student's feelings and thoughts. Gauging his Uncle Vernon's moods to see how bad of a beating he would get had made him an expert at reading body language, but he often wasn't sure what to do with the information or how to respond to it if it didn't involve anger and pain. So most of the time he kept the information to himself if it didn't involve him; he was too busy trying to survive most of the time to care who fancied who anyway.

    Speaking of possible fancies, Harry had not had a chance to meet with Draco again since their first snog and first kiss, and he was sort of missing the blond's caustic presence and sarcastic remarks. At times, when Draco's act was so good that Harry wondered if the Slytherin had been Obliviated and thought it was still fourth year, Harry felt a bit ashamed and horrified when he thought of their steamy encounter in the middle of the night. After all, Draco _was_ a Slytherin and a Malfoy. Harry could be betraying his friends and the Wizarding World by "fraternizing with the enemy" so to speak, an enemy that was known to be sly, dishonest, and ambitious...

    Draco could be using him, lying to him, and he wouldn't know the difference.

    Harry never contemplated such thoughts for long, at least not consciously, and they often disappeared to lurk just beneath the surface. Harry had been beaten and betrayed too many times for him to give his complete trust to anyone at this point, which meant that he tended to jump to the worst conclusions when it came to other people. The life of paranoia he lived once he came to the wizarding world and was introduced to Voldemort didn't make things easier for him.

    At the moment, however, all of his problems were gone. There was no uncertainty, no suspicion, no Umbridge, no Voldemort, no death, no scars, no Uncle Vernon. He didn't worry about the fact that he lied to his friends on a daily basis (they still had no idea he was nearly raped by Bradley). There was just him and his Firebolt in the sky, finally feeling free as he dove and spiraled through the air with his hair buffeting his face. Spotting the Snitch off to his right above Fred's head, he seamlessly leaned forward and shot toward it, feeling his breath hitch at the overwhelming feelings of joy and excitement that threatened to overwhelm him. He barreled toward Fred at full speed, rolling a few times on impulse and whipping around him twice before flipping upside down and snatching the Snitch out of the air nimbly just as it was darting away.

    He grinned at Fred, who was looking gobsmacked, from upside down before rolling his broom and whirling away with a snap of his Quidditch robes. He heard the redhead shout something unintelligible at him and he exhaled a breath of laughter. Being in the air had always felt so natural; it was easy for him to unwind when the air was whipping through his messy hair and the ground was far below him. The tension was building for the upcoming Gryffindor/Slytherin match as everyone sought a distraction from the war, but Harry wasn't too worried. Quidditch was the least of his worries at the moment.

    Ron, however, didn't seem to be sharing his sentiment. He seemed a bit pale but determined as he guarded the posts against his brothers, and Harry mentally applauded as he watched the redhead make a spectacular save. _Now if he can just keep it up for tomorrow_. Harry thought amusedly.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry continues to fail to catch a break.

    Harry sank onto his bed the next night, shell-shocked.

    _Banned._

    Automatically, he tugged up the sleeve of his arm and pulled the curtains closed when he felt Zephyr's desire to be released in the back of his mind. She emerged from his body a moment later in a flash of molten fire and settled next to his head. She spread her wings slightly to shelter his chest in a warm, soft half-hug and ran her beak through his sweaty hair. He barely registered the comforting motions.

    _Banned_.

   Instinctively, he brought his arms up and cradled the phoenix in his arms carefully like a stuffed animal, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling as he tried to make sense of the events of the afternoon and his feelings. He and the Weasley twins had been banned for life from Quidditch and their brooms had been taken away. His broom, his first gift from Sirius.

    The game had gone well - or as well as it could have gone between two rival teams - and Harry had caught the Snitch, but then all hell had broken loose. He had tried to avoid Draco as much as he could, taking up an air of indifference and distaste around the blonde, but unfortunately Draco had sunk a little too far back into his old routine of past years.

    He had been saying something - Harry wasn't even sure what, but it was probably something about the Weasley's income again - and apparently he had gone too far. Fred and George had attacked him on the Quidditch pitch and, in turn, this caused Harry to inexplicably fly into a rage. Fortunately, he had not had much of a chance to do any damage to the twins, but he was in the middle of the fray when the teachers had intervened. Umbridge, as High Inquisitor, had banned the three Gryffindors, much to nearly everyone's outrage and dismay. To add injury to insult, Umbridge had also given him detention every night for the next two weeks.

    Unfortunately, nothing could be done. Harry had lost one of his greatest outlets - his relief when things got too complicated. After explaining what had happened to both McGonagall and Dumbledore and being told that it couldn't be reversed, Harry had been sent back to his dorm. Instead, he had retreated to the Room of Requirement and had fought his way through a dozen training dummies before he had collapsed, his body and anger exhausted.

    The back of his hand throbbed.

    Now, Harry scowled into the darkness for a moment before letting his anger drain from him in a sigh. It wasn't fair, but then again his life had never been fair. He was almost used to it by now... and besides, Quidditch wasn't _that_ important - not as important as Voldemort. He could live without his broom for a while. Still, he wasn't sure how much longer he could deal with Umbridge before giving into the urge to get rid of her.

    In fact, the only good thing that had happened that day was that Hagrid had returned and they had spent some time talking with the half-giant. The distraction had allowed Harry to concentrate on something other than his own dismay and he had been interested when Hagrid had let slip that he had been visiting the giants on Dumbledore's orders, though it irked him more than usual that he was so out of the loop. He knew it was necessary, but he didn't like not knowing what was happening to his friends. The only person he had been allowed to write to while at the Dursley's was Dumbledore, and even if he didn't particularly want to talk with his friends at that time, he still made sure to ask about them occasionally.

    By the time that part of the summer had been over, he had been eager to talk with his friends.

    Harry curled up on his side, still holding the bird carefully against him, and eventually fell into a restless sleep, his dreams plagued with abuses both old and new.

* * *

 

    In the Headmaster's tower, the aged wizard was calmly sitting in front of the fireplace sipping tea as he contemplated the man across from him in silence. The Potion's Master was scowling down at his own tea, his brow furrowed and his eyes unreadable. On the small table between them, a stone basin filled with a shimmering silver liquid rested, its contents swirling gently. Dumbledore closed his eyes as he sipped his tea appreciatively, knowing that the younger man would speak soon. As often was the case, he was correct.

    "I can't help but feel some respect for the boy," the sallow-skinned man grunted, eyes narrowed in a glare at his tea. "I can't decide if he's brave or merely idiotic by the way he is so blasé about the whole situation."

    "Harry has endured many difficult trials throughout his young life," Dumbledore commented serenely. "More than most grown men, and his maturity has grown proportionally. Beneath his boyish demeanor, he is both caring and incredibly strong despite the pain he was both seen and experienced, as you have undoubtedly seen."

    "I didn't come to hear a speech of praise about the brat, Albus," Snape sneered, eyes glittering. "I've admitted that he may be entitled to some respect, but that doesn't mean I like him. And while his stamina and threshold for pain is rather impressive, I hardly think that it justifies the amount of hero-worship everyone has for the boy. You dote on him too much."

    "Ah, but you do not know the whole story, my dear Severus," the old wizard murmured, eyes dulling. Snape sneered again, though his eyes became a bit uncertain and curious. "Harry has seen and endured more horrors than you, or indeed, anyone knows; not even his closest friends and adoptive family know as much as I do, and I don't think young Harry has told me everything either. Only he knows what pain he harbors."

    "That could become dangerous," Snape said neutrally, disdain coloring his tone. "He will break down if he bottles all the pain up like he normally does. Idiot boy."

    "Perhaps, but you underestimate him, Severus," Dumbledore said amusedly. "You also underestimate his friends and surrogate family. He has all of the help he needs; it is up to him whether to confide in them or not. In fact, he reminds me of another boy - indeed, two boys - who also carried deep pain within themselves. One is you, in a way, and the other..."

    He trailed off, his eyes pensive. The Potion's Master, after rolling his eyes in disdain, waited patiently for several seconds before grinding out an impatient "And the other..?" His companion and mentor jumped, appearing startled.

    "Oh, I'm sorry, my boy," he said genially. "The other is, of course, Tom Riddle." Snape appeared startled at this, but then thoughtful. "Luckily, our Mr. Potter is firmly ensconced in the Light."

    "Yes, luckily," The younger wizard sneered half-heartedly. Staring down into his cup, he contemplated the increasingly curious puzzle that was Harry James Potter. After a moment, however, he pulled himself rather viciously from his musings and sent a sharp glare at the softly twinkling Headmaster. "I hardly have the time to puzzle over your disturbed Golden Boy, Albus. I will ask around about the foreigners and try to find out what makes them so useful. Good evening."

    He swept through the doorway, hardly waiting for a response, and left Dumbledore to chuckle in his armchair, sipping tea happily as he measured the results of his seemingly casual conversation. Severus was interested, at least, and that was a large step in the right direction. Perhaps, with time, the gap between the student and teacher would lessen if the Potion's Master ferreted out a reason to do so. Harry needed someone who wouldn't pity him, who would force him to face his demons and offer the support of similar experiences when no one else could.

* * *

 

    The next morning, Harry woke to a blinding light and a familiar bout of cursing from above. He snapped awake, but Ron had already closed the curtains on either side of his neck and eyed the phoenix curled up next to him.

    "Merlin, Harry, you could be a bit more discreet," he said exasperatedly. He seemed to have recovered from the Slytherin's taunting at yesterday's game.

    "Sorry, Ron," Harry mumbled, rubbing his face tiredly. "I forgot." He had not slept well at all last night, and he shuddered in remembered pain as he ghosted over the memories his subconscious had dragged up while he slept. Ron snorted.

    "Only you could forget you have a bloody golden phoenix sleeping next to you," he said, amused. "Come on, breakfast is starting any minute." Flapping a hand half-heartedly, Harry yawned and ran his other hand through his hair, wincing when the scabs on the back of his hand stretched. He had remembered to soak it in the murtlap essence Poppy had given him, but it was still a little bit sore. As he dressed, he was thankful for the long sleeves of his robes, figuring that he was lucky to have gone this far into the school year without anyone noticing.

    As he joined Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall, Harry couldn't resist sending Umbridge a sharp glare as he sat down at the Gryffindor table, and he only stopped when Hermione hissed at him to do so. Instead, he glared down at his plate, his appetite completely gone. He glanced around the room quickly, seeing that it was somewhat late and some teachers had already gone to their classrooms to prepare for lessons. He was careful not to look at the Slytherin table, afraid of catching Draco's eyes. He was extremely embarrassed about his reaction to the twins attacking his mate and he hoped that the Slytherin would think that Harry had been angry about the insults as well. Besides, it _was_ sort of Draco's fault that Umbridge had banned him from Quidditch... even though Umbridge probably would have found a reason to ban him anyway since she was actively trying to make his life miserable.

    Suddenly, Harry didn't want to be there anymore. He didn't want to even be in the same room with that toad without showing her just how much he had learned from regularly visiting the mind of the darkest wizard of the century.

    Harry blinked, his anger ebbing at that thought. Fear quickly replaced the anger, a cold sweat breaking out on his body as he recognized the slimy feel of Voldemort's presence stirring interestedly in the dark recesses of his mind. He froze. He had dwelled on his anger and frustration for too long, letting it grow until it caught Voldemort's attention, and he could feel the Dark Lord probing at their connection with malicious curiosity.

    Abruptly, Harry stood and mumbled an excuse, fleeing the room as fast as he could without running. Heart pounding, Harry tried to keep calm, but once he was out of view, he broke into a run. He let his thoughts float vaguely on the surface of his mind, hazy and dim, in an effort to convince the Dark Lord that that was the extent of their connection. He didn't know where he was going, only that he had to get away from other students, but a particularly sharp jab caused him to stop abruptly and bolt into a room on his right. He barely registered a familiar form rising from behind a desk before he collapsed to his knees and bent over, grinding his forehead into the stone and squeezing his eyes shut. Then he clapped his hands over his ears, muffling any sounds of the person calling in concern.

    He stayed like that for some time, breathing harshly as he forced his body and mind into a state of calm. Now that he knew the danger, Harry conjured up a false feeling of anger and frustration, directing his thoughts at Umbridge, the Ministry, and the fact that he had been banned from Quidditch so as to not alert Voldemort that he was aware of the intrusion. He could sense the ruse working; Voldemort, though amused, was losing interest in what was apparently the everyday thoughts of a schoolboy. It appeared as if the Dark Lord wasn't interested in probing the depths of their connection, much to Harry's relief, and after several more long moments, he felt Voldemort retreat into his own mind and raise his shields.

    Harry waited for a tense second before gradually relaxing and letting out his breath in a slow stream. Opening his eyes, he took another deep breath and sat up, running his sleeve across his forehead to wipe off the cold sweat. His limbs felt weak and rubbery, as if he had run a mile in those few short minutes, and his scar throbbed lightly.

    "Ha- Mr. Potter?"

    Harry's head snapped up, having forgotten that anyone was in the room. He was in McGonagall's office and the Transfiguration teacher was standing above him, watching him with shrewd and anxious eyes. Even more surprising than the fact that he had somehow managed to find McGonagall's office, however, was that Snape was standing next to her, a calculating look on his face as he stared intently at Harry. A small blush spread over his cheeks in embarrassment and he quickly stood. The action made the blood rush to his head and he swayed for a moment before catching himself on the wall behind him and shaking his head a bit.

    "Sorry, Professor, I didn't know where I was going," he said when he could focus on his teachers once more. Snape snorted at his apology and McGonagall brushed it aside carelessly.

    "I could care less about that, Potter. It was a good thing that it was my office that you stumbled upon, however. Now, will you please tell me what just happened?"

    Harry grimaced and shrugged, reaching up with one hand to rub the back of his neck. "I was feeling a bit... angry and frustrated about the whole Umbridge business and about being banned from Quidditch the other day. I guess I accidentally got a bit out of control and Vol- er, Riddle," Harry quickly amended after catching Snape's sharp hiss, "noticed. He was pretty curious and wandered over to my part of his mind for a visit. I left the room and practiced what little I know of Occlumency to get rid of him. It worked."

“Occlumency? Where did you learn about that?” McGonagall asked sharply.

“When I learned about my connection with Riddle at the end of last year, I started researching what I could do to protect myself. Occlumency was mentioned a few times and I tried to teach myself a bit of it.”

    McGonagall, though still anxious, was also clearly impressed and Snape, despite himself, was also a bit amazed. The casual comments belied the horror and severity of the situation Potter was describing, and even a slight mastery over such a complex art as Occlumency was certainly nothing to sneeze at, especially if it was subtle enough to fool the Dark Lord.

    "I see..." McGonagall said faintly. She still seemed unbalanced by the information, but she was quickly gaining her stern expression back. "Well, that was quite irresponsible of you to lose track of your emotions like that, Potter. I know that it's getting difficult, but we've all got to deal with Umbridge this year and remember to keep our heads. I'm not going to punish you - having Vol- Tom rooting around your mind is punishment enough in this case, I think." Harry nodded with a faint air of sheepishness.

    "Is your scar hurting, Potter?" Snape asked abruptly, eyes training on the thin scar in deep thought. "How deeply did the Dark Lord probe your connection? What did you do to divert his attentions?"

    Harry watched the brilliant Potion's Master cum spy for a moment, recalling all of the times in his visions that Voldemort had praised the man for his cleverness. He had seen Snape's brilliance for himself countless times and he had developed a healthy respect for the bitter man after watching him construct elaborate lies and nimbly turn away Voldemort's dangerous temper by merely a few words, gracefully sidestepping all of the verbal traps and insults that came his way. Of course, Harry would never tell Snape that he respected him any time soon, but he did trust him enough to confide in him about this critical matter.

    "I don't think he has any idea how deeply our connection runs," Harry admitted. "He only skimmed the surface of my thoughts; maybe because he didn't want me to know he was there, or maybe because he didn't think he could go any deeper. Once I realized what had attracted him, I set up a sort of haze of false thoughts and emotions - anger and frustration mostly - around my mind so that he wouldn't suspect I knew what he was up to. Underneath the worthless thoughts, I had a mental shield up, but it's pretty weak still. I was lucky that he wasn't feeling too curious."

    "Yes, your capacity for luck is only surpassed by your attraction to trouble," Snape sneered, but there didn't seem to be much heart in it. He seemed much more interested in trying to figure out the puzzle in front of him. McGonagall ignored him and cleared her throat.

    "Am I correct in assuming that the matter has been tended to and closed, then, Mr. Potter?" He nodded. "Well then, I believe it is time for you to head to your class. Be certain to keep your emotions in check, won't you?" Harry merely nodded again with a faint murmur of assent. He was feeling embarrassed and a bit ashamed for losing control, but her last comment had also been a bit too similar to Umbridge's for his comfort. Without further ado, the three parted ways to head to their respective classrooms.

    Taking a few deep breaths and carefully performing a sweep of his mind just to make sure Voldemort was securely behind his shields, Harry approached Professor Binns' classroom and slipped inside just before the bell rang.

* * *

 

    _"Wormtail." Harry grasped a champagne flute with his long, white fingers, rolling the stem back and forth with false calmness. A fire burned merrily in the hearth._  
 _"Y-yes, Master?"_  
    "I am becoming impatient. Has Heilman or Xu Chi sent word yet?"  
    "Yes, M-Master. Nott sent w-word that Heilman has had some s-success in his task, but n-no one has heard f-from the Asian."  
    Harry hissed with displeasure. "I cannot wait much longer, Wormtail, I want the prophecy now!”   


* * *

  

    The next month passed in relative quiet. Draco had approached Harry not long after the Quidditch match to - somewhat stiffly - apologize, and Harry had forgiven him, but things had changed slightly between them. They had not snogged or even kissed since their first, and even their daily contact was somewhat awkward. Harry wasn't even sure why - after all, there were certainly more important things than Quidditch, such as killing Voldemort- but he couldn't help it. If Hermione and Ron noticed things were different, they didn't comment on it.

    Even if they had, Harry didn't really have the time to worry about his relationship with the blond Slytherin. He had been keeping a very close watch on his emotions and kept them tightly reigned in at all times to avoid another incident like the one before. He was also tightly focused on the DA and his own learning. Under his continued tutelage, the DA was beginning to flourish into a truly formidable team of students who were now so well-rehearsed in the defensive magic of their previous years that they would have - had their efforts been revealed to them - astounded even the strictest of teachers. Fortunately, the DA hadn't been revealed, but it was easy to see that their training and learning was leaking into their other classes - except, of course, Defense Against the Dark Arts, where there was no practical application required. The other teachers certainly noticed the change and probably suspected something, but they certainly weren't complaining.

    Even students that had been deemed hopeless or irrepressible - such as Neville or the Creevy brothers - had proven to be quite powerful and dangerous when they wanted to be. Far from hopeless, Neville had even managed to best Hermione in a duel or two, even if he had drifted in a startled haze for an hour afterwards and continually apologized to the brilliant witch. And the Creevey brothers made an unstoppable force when they worked together against their opponents. As time passed and they delved deeper into the more dangerous spells and skirmishes - where the opportunity for actual injury was high - the DA learned to trust each other and forget house rivalries as they worked together to "survive." This was mostly Harry's doing, as he occasionally set up meetings to resemble actual battles; with the confusion and fear that came from the actual battlefield. The trust and respect that the DA members had already had for Harry was increased dramatically as time wore on, even if he was careful not to talk much about his own experiences. It was to the point that if he barked an order, they jumped immediately to obey it, as they had learned the consequences of not trusting their leader and commander.

    Harry, of course, made sure that he was well-versed in any counters for curses that might fly and he also spent much of his free time - what little of it there was - learning healing spells and techniques. He tried to make sure that his personal urgency didn't overflow into the DA meetings, although there were times when everyone noticed the almost feverish determination in his steely gaze when he taught them, and Harry kept the meetings as light and fun as possible without encouraging laziness. Fred and George were invaluable in this aspect, as they were always up for a joke or a prank.

    The rest of Harry's time was spent training. Dumbledore contacted him very infrequently and so it had been Tonks herself that had told Harry that they would be unable to hold regular training sessions, both because of Harry's schedule and his spontaneous detentions with Umbridge. Instead, they managed to meet only to set up a future date for a test of sorts that the two Aurors would give him to make sure that his skills were staying sharp. Since he had found his mate, Harry no longer felt debilitating pain when he touched someone else, and so he had managed to impress them more than once. Often, they would give him a topic or spell and tell him to research it or master it before their next meeting. These assignments, though useful, were never very difficult for Harry to master.

    This was mostly because he had already learned much of what was being taught in his classes and he was able to complete the homework in record time. It wasn't always correct, as he didn't want to raise suspicion with non-Order member teachers, but it allowed him to concentrate more fully on his training. The only exception he took to this was Potions. He had taken particular interest in the subject even during summer, especially when Draco became his friend, and he had no qualms about using his knowledge to the fullest in order to show up Snape. His plan hadn't exactly worked as he'd planned - instead of becoming more acerbic, the Potions Master had actually seemed to be curious and contemplative when class was over.

    It made Harry nervous.

    As he wasn't to be taught formally, Harry forced himself to train on his own in his spare time - which meant that it was normally very early in the morning or during a meal. Every morning at 5:30 he would run several times around the lake before returning to the Room of Requirement to train with the dummies there, which were by now on par with an average Death Eater. Interspersed with his physical training was magical training, taught - or guided - by Zephyr.

    His wandless magic was little better than it had been during the summer, as he still required the use of a small focus, but his elemental training was proving to be extremely profitable. Having already learned how to control his magic to a fine degree, Harry was finding that a similar concept could be applied to controlling the elements, so that he didn't blow up or scorch an object that he was looking at if he got angry. He could now summon balls of fire to his hand or even concentrate it to a single fingertip. He could conjure up a breeze that affected only a certain object, or he could draw water from the earth or air to form swirling spheres of liquid.

    Most of this he did instinctively, with Zephyrs promptings as the only guideline, but in his various studies - and correlating them with his own experiences - Harry vaguely understood what he was truly doing to the elements when he "controlled" them. Mostly, it involved physics. Natural laws that not he - nor, indeed, anyone - could break. He could not simply create fire out of nothing, even if it appeared that way. There needed to be a proper transfer of energy and elements in order for any form of elemental magic to occur. Since most of it occurred naturally, however, this was not a large problem and was actually quite simple.

    In order to create a flame, the air around the area you wished the fire to be had to be completely drained of water until even a small amount of friction - or movement - would set off a spark of flame. Essentially, this is much like the process of stretching out air particles until the water simply ceases to have an effect. Likewise, in order to create water, the air would become much denser and the water molecules would compress until water (condensation) appeared. Controlling air and earth was somewhat simpler since they exist in all things and in all forms, so all Harry had to do was instruct those elements to do what he wished. Of course, all of these processes were helped along and sped up with quite a bit of magic - as well as Harry's connection, or rather, "relationship" with magic.

    During all of this, Voldemort did not remain idle. In fact, if anything, Harry's connection to him seemed to grow. Had Voldemort not kept his shields in place, Harry was sure that he would hardly be able to hear himself think with the clarity of the Dark Lord's thoughts. Luckily, this was not the case, and Harry only had to worry about being dragged into the evil wizard's thoughts during the night, since during the day he had his own rather weak shields up to protect himself. Harry still had no idea how Voldemort remained blind to the depth of the connection they shared, but he was not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth if he didn't have to, even when Voldemort's dreams began filtering slowly into his mind.

    Disgusting as it had seemed when Harry realized what the odd dreams were, he was relieved that the dreams did not appear to be graphic. In fact, it was little more than the image of walking through a maze of corridors until he came to a large, heavy-looking wooden door, with his anticipation growing with each step. Always, at the height of anticipation, he awoke bewildered, worried, and, despite himself, curious. What was it about this door (which, if his visions were true, belonged to the Department of Mysteries) that preyed on Voldemort's mind so? Still, even though the dreams were always accompanied by a faint throbbing in his scar, Harry was able to ignore them except to send a short message to Dumbledore to inform him. These dreams occurred only infrequently and were very short, leading Harry to conclude that so very little of Tom Riddle was human any longer that he no longer needed to sleep as often.

    Dreams were not Harry's only worry. Visions continued to plague him sporadically in the night, and if he was lucky, he only saw people tortured before he forced himself to wake up. Sometimes, it made him feel guilty not to witness their death - as he wanted to be able to be reminded why he was fighting this war - but he was quite sure that he could only deal with seeing so much death for so long.

    Still, it worried him.

    There was a different tone to the Death Eater meetings now, a different feeling. There was an excitement, an anticipation that wasn't there in earlier visions. Sure, they felt the excitement of the moment when they tortured others, but now there was an excitement of something that was _going_ to happen... soon. These feelings were going to come to a head soon, and Harry wasn't sure what kind of effect they would have on the war. He feared the worst.

    Even so, he kept these emotions to himself since they wouldn't really help anyone. Snape probably knew more than Harry did, and predictions of a coming event wouldn't help if there weren't any specifics. So, even though he kept his thoughts to himself, he couldn't really help it if the tension affected him subconsciously.  

    He was more high-strung, jumpier. He studied anything he could get his hands on, feverishly, as if the world was going to war the next day, and he continued wartime drills in the DA. He knew something was coming, and he wanted to be prepared for it. It was because of this foresight that Harry wasn't too surprised when Voldemort finally made his move.

    It was the night of the eighteenth - only two days before the start of Christmas break. Harry had been looking forward to some time off of school since most of his classes were easy for him now, and he had eagerly gone to bed early that night. His relatively peaceful sleep had been interrupted, however, by a vision of a familiar corridor. This time, however, he was not walking, but sliding along the floor like a snake. Instead of approaching a large wooden door, he was nearing a large, slumbering figure in a chair in front of the door. Throwing all caution aside when he recognized the man, Harry attempted to take control of the snake, but only succeeded momentarily - after being bombarded by an intense feeling of surprise and impatience - before he was shoved violently into the back of Voldemort's mind. Disoriented, Harry could only watch in dismay as the snake attacked and sunk its fangs into the man's body, flinching in disgust because it felt as if he were doing it himself, as if he enjoyed it.  

    As soon as he was released from Voldemort's mind, Harry sat up in bed, sweat soaking through his nightclothes and his bedsheets twisted around him. Frantically, he scribbled out an urgent message in his shaking hand and quickly ordered Zephyr to take it to the Headmaster. Sensing his urgency, she immediately shook off her tiredness and flashed from the room with a comforting chirp. Exhausted, Harry leaned back against his pillows and drew his knees up to his chest, limbs trembling and scar throbbing with pain and fear. He waited anxiously for what seemed like an eternity for Dumbledore's answer, trying to keep his mind off of what he had seen and felt.

    He debated on whether he should wake Ron. Surely he would want to know what had just happened to his own father. But Harry restrained himself, still not certain whether the vision was real or not - especially considering the casualness with which Voldemort tossed him aside mentally. But still, what if it was real? Before Harry could think any further, he heard the door of the fifth-year dorms open quietly and he tensed, silently drawing his wand.

    "Harry?"

    Recognizing Professor McGonagall's voice, Harry pulled aside his curtains, causing the older witch to stifle a gasp when she caught sight of his pale face and haunted, anxious green eyes.

    "Professor?" Harry said quietly, trying not to wake anyone, and he saw her shake off her shock.

    "Come, Potter, we must go quickly to the Headmaster's office. Wake Mr. Weasley and meet us at the bottom of the stairs. Quickly now!"

    Harry scrambled out of bed and yanked open the curtains to Ron's bed next to him. "Ron! _Ron!_ " He hissed, grabbing his shoulder and shaking it violently. "Wake up!"

    "Ngh... Wha? 'Arry?" Ron grumbled finally, blinking owlishly up at him. "Wha's goin' g'on? Go back to sleep."

    "Hurry up, Ron! McGonagall's here to take us to Dumbledore's office. There's been an attack." That seemed to wake Ron up and within moments they were throwing their robes over their pajamas and hurrying down the stairs, where McGonagall, the twins, and Ginny were already waiting for them. Without another word, McGonagall turned and left through the portrait, hurrying through the empty corridors to the Headmaster's office. The siblings exchanged worried, confused glances and tried to catch Harry's eye, somehow knowing that this had something to do with him, but he studiously avoided them and tried to catch up with McGonagall.

    "How bad is it?" He asked quietly, not looking up at her. She glanced down, her face unreadable.

    "I don't know, Potter. Albus just asked me to send for you." Harry nodded once in understanding and everything was silent for the rest of the trip. Before long, they arrived at the stone gargoyle. Before McGonagall could say the password, Harry, tense with worry and fear, impatiently waved his hand and snapped "Move!"

    To their utter astonishment, the gargoyle did indeed jump out of the way, a startled expression on its stony face, but Harry didn't stop to think about what he had just done. Instead, he didn't slow down and ran up the curved stairway before bursting into Dumbledore's office. The old wizard was standing beside his desk, conversing with one of the portraits on the wall, though he quickly ended the conversation when McGonagall and Harry's friends entered behind him.

    "Good," the Headmaster said, grabbing a teapot from off his desk and motioning them closer. "Quickly now, we must be prompt. I believe Mr. Potter here will be able to answer your questions when you arrive. Fawkes, we need a warning." Nodding, the phoenix flashed from the room. Harry glanced anxiously around the room, fingering the base of his wand worriedly. "Now, children, I must assure you that everything is fine and well-accounted for. He was heavily injured, but is expected to make a full recovery in St. Mungo's. Please-" Before he could say any more, a single flash of fire above his desk drew everyone's attention to the feather that floated down to the desktop.

    "I'm afraid Ms. Umbridge's attention has been drawn. Minerva, if you could head her off?" McGonagall nodded and swiftly left the room, a stern expression on her face. Dumbledore turned back to them. "Don't worry, everything has been taken care of. Your things will be sent to you in the morning since you will not be returning until after Christmas break. Please, stay safe. Now, everyone take a hold of the Portkey-" After a slight hesitation, everyone did so; the Weasley's were looking so confused and worried that Harry's heart nearly broke. Why was he always the bearer of bad news?

    Though his face seemed stoic and emotionless, Harry was nearly trembling with distress on the inside. When Dumbledore began the countdown, he glanced one last time up at the man who had been something of a grandfather to him ever since he came to Hogwarts, taking in his calm and reassuring face. Just as he did so, however, a burst of mind-splitting pain ripped through his scar along with a surge of hate so strong that his eyes automatically widened before he squeezed them shut and clenched his fists. Suddenly, there was a jerk around his navel and the familiar sensation of spinning overwhelmed his senses before his feet slammed into the floor.

    Unprepared, as he always was, Harry's legs buckled and he crumpled to the floor. He lay there for several long seconds as the pain persisted before it retreated back along his link to Voldemort. Panting and shaking, trying to push back the images of the Third Task and Cedric's death, he stood and collapsed into the chair next to him and looked around. He instantly recognized the room as the same one that Fawkes had taken him to several months ago when the Dursley's had been attacked by Death Eaters. It was the basement kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, though the Weasley's obviously didn't know that as they were still looking around in confusion and wariness, and Harry allowed his aching head to drop onto his arms on the tabletop.   

    "Harry?" Came a voice only minutes later. "What happened?" Letting out a brief explosion of air, Harry looked up from his place at the table and inwardly winced when he met his friend's frightened gazes. He didn't want to tell them. Who would? What could he say? _I just saw your father being attacked by Voldemort's snake in a dream._ They had no idea how deep his connection to Voldemort was. They didn't know what he saw every time he was dragged into that monster's mind. How many people he'd seen die. At the very beginning of the term, Luna had asked him who he had seen die when she learned that he could see the Thestrals. His friends had looked away, remembering Cedric, but Harry had just stared unseeingly past the Ravenclaw, caught up in memories of the dozens of deaths he had seen during the summer.

    Cedric had just been the first.

    "Harry? _Harry_ -"

    "What?" Harry snapped, frustrated. Ron was standing next to his chair, face pale and eyebrows drawn in impatience. Harry opened his mouth to apologize, but was interrupted by a familiar figure opening the door and stomping down the stairs hastily. Everyone except Harry immediately spun and within moments Sirius was faced with four wands trained on his face. Ignoring them, Sirius only paused for a moment - allowing Harry to assure them that it really was Sirius (the twins had heard of Sirius' innocence from Ron) - before rushing to his godson's side.

    "Merlin, Harry! Are you alright?" Harry nodded wearily and assured his godfather that he was fine, enduring a short hug for his troubles. His friends appeared to be slightly startled by Sirius' intense worry, but Harry knew that it came from the convict being privy to his most violent visions.

    "Don't worry, Sirius, I'm fine. I was just going to tell them what happened."

    "They don't know?" Sirius gave him a look that seemed better suited to Remus' face - one that said _"We talked about this - they're your friends and you need them. Why don't you tell them?"_

    Harry made a face in response. "You've been hanging out with Remus too long, Sirius. I _have_ to tell them now, anyway."

    Unable to take the suspense anymore, Ginny screeched, "Tell us _what?_ By Merlin, what happened?!" Startled at the normally calm witch's outburst, Harry immediately looked down, ashamed. All levity faded from his posture and he sat straight and tense in his chair. Slowly, quietly, he explained his vision with sparse details, being sure to leave out that he had had such visions before and that he had seen it from Voldemort's point of view.

    "...I didn't know if it was just a dream or not, but my scar was hurting, so I wrote a letter to Dumbledore and had Hedwig take it as soon as possible. I suppose Dumbledore checked just in case and found out that it was true." There was silence for a long while in the room. Ginny was crying silently and the Weasley's had grouped closely together, pale and worried. Harry in the meantime just stared at the floor, knowing that he had just lied outright to his best friends once again.

    That night (or rather, morning) passed slowly in silence. Sirius tried to keep things light and happy for Christmas, but the tension and worry was high, and tempers flared more than once as time passed with no word. Mrs. Weasley finally arrived late in the morning with news that Mr. Weasley was healing and would be fine before Christmas break was over. The family embraced each other, crying in relief, and Harry hung back awkwardly, glad that Mr. Weasley was okay but unwilling to intrude on the emotional moment. Mrs. Weasley quickly fixed this by engulfing him a nearly bone-breaking hug, despite his protests and instinctive fear, and tearfully kissed him on both cheeks.

    He nearly glowed with embarrassment at this, but managed to give her a weak smile before disappearing to his room.

    He tried to think rationally. The guilt he was feeling was hardly deserved, especially considering that he had actually managed to save a man's life with the vision, but Harry always seemed to be able to find a way to blame himself for things that couldn't possibly be his fault. The Dursley's had made sure of it.  
    

* * *

  
    Days passed. Harry kept to himself, staying in his room or in the library in order to avoid the Weasley's. They didn't really notice as they were focused more on their own family crisis, and Sirius was working very hard to make the house cheery for the holidays. Remus, Tonks, and Shacklebolt seemed to notice and were concerned, but it appeared that they also understood and so they didn't force him into socializing. Instead, Harry studied as often as he could - both for his own benefit and for research for the DA - and occasionally allowed himself to be drawn into a game of chess or some other social activity.

    No visions came during this time, and Harry was beginning to have a very uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that was warning him that something was going to happen. Something bad. He mentioned as much to Sirius and Remus, but they insisted that there was very little they could do until Voldemort made a move. Harry disagreed with this - since just waiting could get people hurt or killed - but he tried to take their words to heart. He thought that maybe he was just becoming anxious because he hadn't seen Mal- Draco in several days.

    Harry hadn't noticed the strange, wild feeling in his chest for what it was at first. He had been playing chess with Ron - and losing - when his thoughts began to wander. They had been at Grimmauld Place for three days now. The weather wasn't so bad today; it was cold, with snow on the ground, but there was no wind and the sky was clear. He would have loved to play a bit of Quidditch with Ron or even just fly around a bit on his beautiful broom, but it had been confiscated by Umbridge and who knew where it was now...

    Harry sighed as he thought about his life-long ban, half-heartedly dragging his knight to capture Ron's pawn despite the piece's furious struggles and insults at being manhandled. The familiar sadness, the sharp sting of anger and frustration, were normal whenever he thought about it, but now he noticed that he wasn't feeling the lingering anger toward Draco that he normally felt. It was, after all, Draco's fault that they had been banned and for the weeks after the event, things had cooled considerably between them. Harry no longer blushed when he saw the blond, and Draco no longer smirked in that knowing, relaxed way of his. Instead, they avoided each other as much as possible except when they were forced together by Harry's need to touch. Even their touches became shorter and more infrequent as their bodies adjusted to the bond they had created when Draco accepted Harry as his mate.

    Harry frowned, feeling at a loss and confused. They hadn't touched for nearly four days by now... why wasn't he tearing the walls down to find Draco? The longest they had ever gone was two and a half days. He was feeling a bit worried now, so while Ron was taking his next turn, Harry examined his mind for anything that was off. Ignoring the tangled mass that was his feelings about Mr. Weasley's vision and the Weasley's themselves, giving Zephyr's presence a pleasant greeting as he passed, and skirting quickly around Voldemort's connection rooted in his mind, Harry came upon his tenuous connection with Draco. The thread-like representation was quivering slightly as if agitated and as Harry watched, the trembling grew stronger - accompanied by a longing twinge in his chest - as though it recognized that it was being noticed.

    Harry sighed, unsure of how he felt about that. It had been easy when it was just the two of them, shaken up by the events of the summer and grasping at anything and anyone that understood and could keep them sane.  Now, with the return to school - the return to reality - it was difficult to get those feelings back. Harry was back to being respected, feared, and pitied as the Boy Who Lived, and Draco was back to being a cold, biased, unfeeling jerk. Perhaps both of their roles affected them more than they would like to believe.

    "Checkmate!"

    Harry blinked and came back to himself at Ron's triumphant shout. Looking down at the chess board bemusedly, he saw that his red-haired friend had indeed won the game while he was spacing out. With a half shrug and an exaggerated pout, Harry opened his mouth to say something when he felt the ripple in the magic around the house that preceded someone entering the front door. A moment later, he was proved right when Mrs. Weasley closed the front door quietly and bustled into the living room, hair windswept and cheeks flushed.

    Harry had been able to sense ambient magic for as long as he could remember, but he hadn't known what it was until he had finally asked Shacklebolt about it during the summer. The black man had seemed very surprised that he could sense the magic, but explained that it just meant that he was incredibly sensitive to any magic that was cast by wizards or witches - magic that, by its nature, was more potent than naturally-occurring magic. Most wizards, he explained, were able to sense magic on a very basic level. Since they had grown up with magic their entire lives, distinguishing a single ward or charm over an object was difficult without the help of certain spells, but obviously Harry wasn't hindered by this in any respect. However, it seemed that he was even more receptive than adult wizards should be; he could distinguish layers of wards from one another and could even get a feel for what they were supposed to do. This wasn't unheard of, but Shacklebolt certainly hadn't expected it, not when he was so young, anyway.

    Harry greeted Mrs. Weasley quietly, receiving a tired smile in return, and Ron swiveled around in his chair, a hint of worry entering his eyes.

    "Mum!" He said in surprise. "It's still early, why'd you come home?"

    Setting down her bag on a chair, she answered, "Well, Ron, I stayed with your father through the night and I've been with him nearly every moment since he was admitted, so the nurses forced me to come home and sleep for a few hours. I have good news, though; the Healers said that Arthur has recovered enough for all you children to come see him today."

    Ron looked stunned for a moment before springing from his chair with a whoop and dashing from the room to tell his siblings. Harry laughed quietly, feeling his spirits lift at this bit of proof that Mr. Weasley was indeed recovering. When a hand gently began patting his hair, however, he flinched violently and jerked away from the touch. Almost instantly, he felt his face flood with an embarrassed flush as he glanced up at Mrs. Weasley's kind but worried face. She didn't need anything else to burden her.

    Harry stood from his seat quickly and gave her what he hoped to be a reassuring smile, not quite able to meet her eyes. "That's good news, Mrs. Weasley, I'm glad he's recovering. Here, I'll make you some breakfast." Hurriedly, he tried to leave the room, but he was stopped by her voice calling his name. Turning around, he saw that her eyes had brimmed with tears, but he couldn't identify the emotion that caused them.

    "You silly boy," she scolded gently. "You're coming with us. I don't really understand everything about your... connection to You-Know-Who, but I can't be more grateful for it. I hope you know that."

    Swallowing hard, Harry glanced off to the side and nodded, understanding but not really agreeing with her. Without another word, he turned and quickly fled from the room.

    He managed to avoid the motherly woman for several hours, at which point he was forced to join everyone in the kitchen for lunch. Luckily, she made no mention of his strange behavior. The Weasley children were positively giddy with excitement and relief, and more than once the adults had to break up a food fight between the twins, Ginny, and Ron. Harry himself was sitting quietly beside Sirius (Remus was on a mission for the Order), smiling at their antics, but being sure to listen carefully to the conversation taking place between the animagus and Tonks and Shacklebolt.

    "I don't like it," Sirius was saying, scowling at his glass, "it's been too quiet. You've said so yourself, Shacklebolt, it's not normal for the Death Eaters to be quiet for so long."

    "Look, I know we all care about Harry and the Weasley's," Tonks broke in, "but I honestly don't think that there's any harm in them visiting Arthur today. For Merlin's sake, Sirius, he was nearly dying with all that poison and blood loss! You can't stop his family from seeing him now that he's finally recovering!"

    "Voldemort has no idea where the Weasley's are, not to mention Harry," Shacklebolt added in his deep, calm voice. "I'm sure they'll be perfectly safe. Besides, Tonks and I will be escorting them straight to St. Mungo's ourselves. Relax, Sirius." Sirius seemed to deflate, propping his head up on the table and rubbing his eyes. Letting out a slow breath, he nodded. Personally, Harry preferred not to take any chances and would rather just stay at Grimmauld Place. He had been feeling a growing anxiousness in his chest that wasn't completely related to Draco's absence, and although he had not had any disturbing visions or dreams lately, he was worried at the implications of Voldemort's silence. It usually meant that he was plotting something, and that never bode well for the warriors of the Light.

    Finally, Mrs. Weasley was bustling around the kitchen, instructing everyone to get ready to leave and making sure to include Harry in her orders. Reluctantly, Harry said goodbye to Sirius, feeling a sharp stab of anxiousness as they left Grimmauld Place behind and traveled to the muggle underground. Apparently, this was how they would be getting to St. Mungo's. They all piled onto the underground and sat closely together, the siblings staring around at the muggle objects with bemusement. Harry mostly kept to himself, feeling his stomach tighten inexplicably as they got closer and closer to their destination, but keeping on a relatively cheerful facade for his friends when they turned their attention to him.

    However, that didn't fool Ron for long and he leaned closer to the Boy Who Lived when everyone else was listening to the twins telling a muggle joke.

    "Harry, mate, what's up? You've been wound tighter than a bloody spring this whole time." Harry drew his eyebrows down and stared down at his lap sightlessly as he absently rubbed the back of his right hand.

    "I'm not sure, Ron. I have a bad feeling, but I'm sure it's nothing."

    Ron looked nervous, his hand straying to his pocket that held his wand as he glanced around. "Is it You-Know-Who? Or is it just Malfoy?" Harry was surprised that Ron had thought of that possibility, expecting him to assume it was Voldemort. Perhaps Ron had grown up more than Harry had realized... _or maybe not_ , he amended when Ron made a face at mentioning Draco.

    "It's not just Draco, but I'm not sure if it is Voldemort or not," Harry said, a half-smile on his face at Ron's concern. He had been worried that Ron would react badly to Harry's vision, but so far the redhead was taking it in stride. "Don't worry about it, Ron. Just... you can never be too careful, you know?"

    Ron scrutinized his face carefully, noting Harry's haunted, anxious eyes and the tightness at the corners of his mouth and eyes. Ron nodded seriously, taking Harry's meaning, and slid his hand into his pocket. Not long after, they arrived at what was apparently their stop, as Tonks, Moody and Shacklebolt ushered them out of the underground and onto the muggle streets. Glancing around, Harry assumed that St. Mungo's was under a charm similar to the Leaky Cauldron since he couldn't see anything resembling a hospital nearby. Curious, Harry concentrated and slipped into the state of mind required to sense magic fully.

    When he opened his eyes again, the world was largely grey through the fuzzy silver of the air, and muggles were painted with a faint blue. Looking around, he saw several bright auras heading to and from what appeared to be a clothing department store fallen into disrepair, though with his sight he could clearly see the many, many layers of colorful wards and charms indicating that all was not what it seemed. _So that's where St. Mungo's is,_ Harry mused silently, slipping back into his normal eyesight before he got a headache.

    They were not far from the entrance when a sharp spike in his anxiety caused Harry to freeze suddenly, but it was too late. Hell was already breaking loose. There was an explosion just in front of them and one behind them, throwing everyone off their feet as the ground shook and screams filled the air along with smoke and dust. Harry had braced himself against a wall to remain standing and searched frantically for any sign of Death Eaters, but the dust was too thick. Muggles that had been caught in the explosions screamed or moaned from where they lay on the side of the street, their broken or battered forms all too familiar to Harry.

    Suddenly, someone grabbed Harry's arm and he quickly jerked away, snapping out of his momentary daze and whipping out his wand as he did so. He could see that it was just Tonks, urging him toward the front of the dilapidated clothing store, and he shook his head fiercely. It seemed that most of the Weasley's had already gone inside, having been there before, but Ron was waiting just outside of what Harry assumed to be the entrance, no doubt waiting for him. Now that they were safe, however, Harry wasn't just going to leave the muggles to die.

    "No!" He shouted over the sound of more explosions on the other side of the street. Underage laws be damned, he began casting shielding and numbing spells at all of the muggles in his sight, finally seeing Death Eaters as he did so. Shacklebolt and Moody had already engaged them and they were trading spells furiously, Moody's eye rolling and his mouth gaping in a macabre mask of satisfaction when two of the Death Eater's he was facing dropped. By now, the Death Eaters had caught sight of Harry through the lingering dust and spells were not long in coming. He cast a shielding spell over himself and Tonks and dodged the spells he didn't recognize when they broke through. The metamorphmagus seemed to have given up on herding him to St. Mungo's at the moment, busy defending herself as well, and Harry was just fine with that.

    Harry had quickly switched from shielding spells to stunning, cutting, and other curses, throwing out spell after spell seamlessly, almost too fast to follow. Just as he was working himself into a truly dangerous state, a bludgeoning curse broke through his shield, plowing straight into Tonks as she was dodging another. Distracted, Harry glanced down to see her condition and was promptly blown back against the wall by the same curse hitting the stones just in front of his feet. Slivers of stone cut through his clothes and exposed skin, his head bounced off of the wall behind him, and stars suddenly flooded his vision. Everything seemed muffled and dim all of a sudden, and he could barely feel it when he collapsed to his knees, but he had enough awareness to roll when his body hit the ground.

    He vaguely heard several voices shouting his name, but he couldn't distinguish one from the other. Sluggishly, he attempted to get to his feet, but before he could, someone grabbed his arm and he felt the unmistakable jerk from around his navel indicating a Portkey. When his feet slammed into the ground and he crumpled predictably, he only had time to catch a glimpse of dark stone walls before blows began raining down on his head and body, and he slipped mercifully into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for graphic violence and torture.

    Harry awoke to darkness, long practice from the Dursley's making it so that only a soft groan escaped from his mouth unbidden when pain assaulted his senses. He didn't move as he tried to mentally catalogue his injuries. His head hurt the worst at the moment, throbbing painfully with each heart beat, but the rest of his body just seemed to be bruised and battered. Nothing was broken, though he could feel the stinging of cuts on his face and body, and he was fairly sure that his hands and feet were bound tightly with what appeared to be handcuffs and rope. _What did Uncle Vernon do to me this time?_

It was only when his eyes opened and adjusted to the light that he realized that he was not at the Dursley's, because he couldn't remember their house ever having a perfect replica of a medieval dungeon; including a stone cell, barred door, torchlight, and two buckets in the corner nearby. Gently, Harry sat up, but immediately found out that was a mistake as his injuries awoke and his head spun dangerously. Feeling abruptly nauseous, he grabbed the nearest bucket with both hands and vomited into it, eventually dry heaving when he had nothing else to vomit. When the heaving stopped and his nausea faded away, he simply sat still and panted, trying not to move too much. Each of his injuries seemed to throb in time with his heart beat.   

    Several minutes of complete silence passed, during which time Harry noticed the vomit in the bucket vanish, though the smell lingered in the air. Apparently this bucket was for waste, while the other - he glanced over - was just filled with water. Moving slowly and carefully, he set the bucket aside and slid over to the water bucket to rinse his mouth and get a drink. The water appeared cool and clean so, figuring that if the Death Eaters wanted him dead they wouldn't poison his water, Harry drank.

    Feeling a bit more refreshed and aware, Harry leaned back against the stone wall with a sigh and a wince as his tender head rested on the cold stone. Finally, he began planning for his escape. He had been stupid, he knew, to take his attention from the Death Eaters for even a moment, but he couldn't really help it at the time and there was nothing he could do about it now, so he instead focused on how to get out. Focusing deeply, he tried to cast a wandless _Reducto_ on his bonds, but just as he felt his magic beginning to react, a sharp pain flared simultaneously in his wrists and head, and he yelped in pain. Waiting a moment for the pain to clear, he concentrated again and within moments he saw the handcuffs on his wrists enveloped in a metallic red laced with black. The rope around his ankles was also red.

    Harry's mouth went dry and a deep chasm opened where his stomach used to be as fear flooded his veins with ice. From what he could decipher, the magical handcuffs were blocking his magic, preventing him from using all but the most basic of magics such as his magical sight and the barest hints of elemental magic. With these on, not even magic could escape his body, much less Zephyr. Slumping against the wall behind him, Harry closed his eyes in despair and mentally contacted the phoenix.

    _Zephyr, are you there?_

    Warmth enveloped him briefly and he felt the comforting presence of his companion. _Yes, Harry, I'm here. Unfortunately, my magic - our magic - is repressed and I cannot help you escape. There is very little that I can do, but know that I am always with you._

    Harry reassured her and thanked her, both of them falling silent as they contemplated their situation. There were no windows in his cell, but Harry thought that perhaps several days had passed with no movement or sounds. It was almost as if they had forgotten him - death Eaters and the Order alike. He knew that that wasn't true, of course, but he couldn't help but feel a bit bitter after the first two days had passed. While he couldn't cast any true or powerful spells, Harry had managed to help himself by "prodding" his magic just a bit and guiding it in such a manner as to speed up the healing of his body. He wasn't sure how he did this, exactly, but he suspected that it had something to do with his relationship with Magic -something that allowed it to determine what he wanted it to do at such a low level as to be nearly undetectable. From what Zephyr told him, all magical creatures - including wizards - had this mechanism in their body naturally, and Harry was just speeding up the natural healing process with a bit more magic.

    When he was not sleeping or conversing with Zephyr, Harry was working on a plan of action. He hadn't come with anything really plausible yet, but he was managing to draw in some of the magic from the bonds on his legs, siphoning it very slowly and very carefully into his own magical stores. It wasn't a very practical solution, but it was something that couldn't be done quickly with the suppressors on his arms. During the amount of time he stayed in his cell, Harry never saw anyone. A half loaf of bread arrived only three times during his stay, but the water bucket replenished itself and since he was more than used to spending days without food or water, he figured that he was in pretty good shape. It never ceased to amuse him that his archenemy was treating him better than his own "family" had.

    Finally, after who knows how long, Harry was abruptly woken from a light doze when the door to his cell swung open and his was instantly immobilized by a _Petrificus Totalus._ Cursing internally at not thinking of the possibility of a silencing charm around his cell, Harry was then levitated and floated through the corridors of what appeared to be an enormous castle similar to Hogwarts by one of Voldemort's henchmen. Unfortunately, Harry could only stare at the ceiling above him, preventing him from seeing the face of his carrier and from memorizing the route they were taking. Still, he tried the best that he could.

    After several minutes of the crackling of torches, the soft swooshes of robes, and the soft taps of shoes on stone floor, the Death Eater stepped through a gigantic doorway and Harry's body obediently followed after. From the change in the ceiling height and the echo, Harry assumed that they were now in a meeting hall or - judging by Voldemort's tastes - a throne room of some sort. One that was probably full of Death Eaters, if the amount of rustling and faint sniggers were any indication. Suddenly, a very familiar voice echoed around the chamber as Harry came to a stop.

    "Ah, Mr. Potter. How good of you to join us," Voldemort said in a sibilant hiss. "I trust you've enjoyed your stay? Goyle, drop him!" Abruptly, the levitating and binding spells vanished and Harry twisted around in midair to land as well as he could. A ripple of laughter flowed through the room as he landed with a grunt. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet through the careful maneuvering of his bound limbs, glancing around as he did so. He was right about the throne room; Death Eaters lined the walls and Voldemort himself was sitting on a stone throne in a relaxed pose, eyes glittering with malicious amusement. Standing straight and tall, Harry met Voldemort's reptilian eyes - the eyes that he had looked into almost more often than he had his own - and smirked.

    "Yes, your hospitality was most accommodating, Tom. Have you ever thought about redecorating, though? Honestly, that old stone cell look has been around since the Dark Ages... Though, I suppose that means that it _was_ popular in your day, wasn't it?" For a moment, Harry wondered if he had gone a bit too far with the witty banter, as Voldemort's seething anger had only increased since his use of his given name.

    " _Never_ call me by that filthy name again, Potter! _Sectumsempra!"_ As the cutting hex raced toward him, Harry threw himself to the side, barrelling into Goyle, who had stupidly stood next to Harry after releasing him from the spells. Awkwardly head-butting the huge lump, Harry fumbled for control of Goyle's wand before he finally got a hand around it. He barely managed to remove the ropes from his legs before the pain from the handcuffs rammed into his brain like a train. Gritting his teeth, Harry leapt to his feet and dashed toward the door, wand clamped tightly in his hand, but before he took three steps he was taken down by spells from all sides.

    When he next awoke, he was collapsed in a heap in front of Voldemort's throne sporting several new bruises. Very little time seemed to have passed at all; Goyle was just receiving his wand after what appeared to be a vicious _Crucio_ , and the Death Eater's wands were still out. Voldemort was smirking down at him again, tapping his wand thoughtfully against his pointed chin.

    "That wasn't the smartest of moves, Harry, but then again, you aren't known for your foresight, are you?" Sighing when Harry did nothing but glare at him, Voldemort stood up and buried his spidery hand into Harry's thick hair, gripping tightly and dragging the petite boy along the ground until he was to a point near the center of the room. Harry struggled violently, kicking his legs and grasping at the Dark Lord's wrist with his bound hands, but the floor was bare and Voldemort's grip was iron-tight. His scar was burning fiercely. Suddenly, Voldemort stopped and casually dropped Harry's head, causing stars to explode in front of the boy's eyes once more at the impact. Stunned, Harry barely noticed when someone grabbed ahold of his bound wrists and heaved his slight form up until his toes barely touched the floor. The person hung Harry on a hook through a link in the handcuffs, leaving him to swing slightly as he regained his senses.

    When he finally did so, he struggled at first, but quickly stopped when he found that after days of little food he had little strength to do much more than kick out and swing in place - both of which were a strain on the joints of his shoulders that were holding all his weight. _Bugger me,_ he thought angrily. Narrowing his eyes to slits, Harry watched Voldemort eye him up like a piece of meat, stroking his wand lovingly as he did so. Harry wasn't too worried that Voldemort would kill him; if the Dark Lord only knew the first few lines of Trelawney's prophecy, he would be wary about killing Harry until he was sure that it wouldn't kill him at the same time. As it was, Voldemort would probably just play with him until he was maimed, blind, paralyzed, or likewise incapacitated for the rest of his life so that he would no longer be a threat.

     Harry hoped that he would be gone long before it ever came to that.

    When Voldemort began circling him, Harry turned his attention to the surrounding Death Eaters. Most of them were hooded, but a few of the more bold ones had their hoods down to watch the proceedings with a malicious glee; pleased that their greatest annoyance could see them watching as he was tortured. Harry met their gazes unflinchingly, a steely look in his eye and a slight, mocking upturning of his lips. He noted that Lucius Malfoy had his hood down - as did Crabbe and Goyle, Sr. - and Harry briefly wondered if Draco was here. There were several shorter figures in the ranks of Death Eaters. His heart throbbed strongly with pain and longing at the thought, but he didn't try and seek out those silver orbs.

    Abruptly, he was brought from his musings when Voldemort circled around to face him again, a knife in hand. "My Death Eaters," he hissed with a satisfied smirk, "what you have before you is one of my greatest annoyances, second only to Dumbledore and his band of fried turkeys. Do you know what this means, Mr. Potter? Since the old fool is not here, _you_ have the honor of relieving some of the... stress my followers have been under." An ominous chuckle rippled through the room at this.

    "So glad I could be of help," Harry gritted out sarcastically, keeping his eyes on Voldemort's face and not on the knife that was slowly making its way closer to his neck. The Dark Lord gave a light hissing laugh.

    "Come now, Harry, your attempts at witty banter are hardly helping your position no matter how poor they are. You're only serving to make my followers restless." It was true. The circle of Death Eaters seemed to be pressing closer in order to see as the tip of Voldemort's knife pricked his throat. Although it was only a shallow cut, Harry could feel it bleeding quite heavily, as neck and head wounds tended to do. Harry's eyes closed involuntarily when the knife point pressed closer.

    "Do stop trying to be _brave_." The knife began dragging down now, but it was not going through his skin. Harry's eyes snapped open when he felt cool air on his chest and stomach as Voldemort slit his shirt down the front. The Dark Lord contemplatively traced the same path with the flat of his blade, the cold metal making Harry's skin gooseflesh as Voldemort began speaking again. "But don't worry, I won't kill you immediately. Perhaps not even today, but that doesn't mean that we can't have our fun with you for quite some time before- Oh? What's this?"

    Voldemort interrupted his own monologue, gazing with what seemed to be surprise, curiosity, and delight on his snake-like face at Harry's chest as the point of his knife held a flap of what used to be his shirt away from his body. Harry found out a moment later when Voldemort reached out and traced one of his larger scars with his long finger, causing Harry suck in his breath and whimper as pain exploded in his scar.

    "Why Harry, I don't remember giving you this," Voldemort mused with mock hurt. "Have you been cheating on me with other villains?" Laughter roared from all sides as Voldemort smirked. Unable to resist, Harry spoke up sarcastically.

    "Yes, I have, there's no denying it. And I must say, he was so much better than you; he starved me for much longer than you did, he hit harder, and his beatings could go on _all night long_. Needless to say, he was a _real_ man." Unfortunately, this didn't have the effect he had wanted as Voldemort simply smirked before tracing his finger along the scar on Harry's side once more. Harry thought that his head would burst from pain. He sucked in his stomach with a hiss and glared viciously at the serpent-like man.

    Voldemort just ignored him and circled around to his back once more, causing Harry to tense up in anticipation for pain, but instead, all he felt was a tremendous jerk as Voldemort ripped his shirt off, exposing his back to the Death Eaters. The violent motion made his body swing and his skin burn, blood from his throat trickling down in a slow dribble to stop just above his bellybutton. The room was silent as the Death Eaters waited for their master's reaction. For his part, Harry just remained silent and tense, a light blush - both angry and embarrassed - flooding his cheeks as he stared stoically at the floor in front of him.

    "Ah... these are lovely," Voldemort hissed softly, his long thin fingers just barely tracing some of the biggest ones and ghosting over the words carved into Harry's back. "Worthless, murdering freak...? This person must know you very well, Harry. So inventive... knives, belts, handcuffs, too." He tsked. "I can assure you that we will be far more creative. Tell me, who did this? It is certainly not recent."

    Harry remained stubbornly silent, the muscles of his back twitching as Voldemort continued to trace the letters on his back. "Come now, Harry, tell me who it was. Who else did you annoy so much as to receive this punishment?" Impatience was beginning to seep into Voldemort's tone at Harry's continued silence. One would think that the boy was actually ignoring him! Abruptly, he swung around to stare into Harry's steely green eyes.

    " _Leglimens!"_ He snapped, and Harry's head seemed to explode with pain. He didn't even have enough time to even _think_ about putting up any kind of shields before Voldemort was ripping viciously though his mind, looking specifically for memories of Harry's abuse. Unbidden, memory after memory came up before his mind's eye, moving at fast-forward before flicking away, the Dark Lord's glee increasing with each image.

    _Vernon was backhanding a small, green-eyed boy, making him crash against the wall behind him..._

_Harry was pressed against a wall, his cousin's fat fists holding his arms behind him in an awkward, painful position as tears streamed down his face..._

_A cascade of images, each one more recent than the last, showed Harry crouched in his cupboard, knees drawn up to his chest as he watched the spiders marching across the floor in the small shafts of light under the door..._

_A belt was brought down on his back, over and over again, the buckle catching him in the ribs and tearing the skin away in a gash that wrapped around to his back..._

_Aunt Petunia, with a disdainful sneer, was shoving a plate with half of a dry sandwich on it and ten-year-old Harry accepted it gratefully, glad for a meal that day..._

_Harry cooking, cleaning, doing yard work, endlessly through wind, rain, snow, and midsummer's heat..._

_Vernon, drunk, was holding a knife as he advanced on Harry, who was handcuffed to his bed..._

"NOOO!" Harry screamed, expelling Voldemort from his mind with an enormous mental shove that left him trembling and gasping, body slumped in exhaustion. The metal handcuffs were cutting into his skin now, tiny trails of blood slipping down his wrists as his shoulders screamed from the strain of holding him up. Harry kept his eyes closed, not wanting to watch Voldemort as his cold, high laughter filled the room. The Death Eaters were shifting restlessly and wondering what their master had seen in the scarred boy's mind.

    "Oh, but isn't this wonderfully ironic?" Voldemort cackled, swinging around to face his Death Eaters. "My followers, it appears as though the old fool rescued the precious _Boy Who Lived_ from the remains of his family home, only to send him to his abusive relatives, who spoiled their own fat offspring while starving poor Harry here nearly to death!" Raucous laughter erupted around the room, a smattering of approving claps making Harry's cheeks flush once more. "Poor Potter, neglected and abused for his entire life, living in a cupboard before he was whisked away to Hogwarts, and yet somehow managing to find himself back in the cupboard each summer."

    He let the laughter roll around the room for several moments before abruptly silencing everyone with a sharp gesture. His face was suddenly a cold, hard mask. Harry could smell the faint, musky smell of snakes as the Dark Lord leaned forward, his face inches from Harry's own. "Tell me, Potter, how do you feel about your _muggle_ relatives? How did it feel when that fat fool beat you night after night with the buckle-end of his belt, completely disrespectful of the power you hold? How did it feel as you starved day after day in that cupboard under the stairs, watching the day go by in the light under the door? Does it make you angry? Frustrated? Ashamed? Tell me, Harry, do you feel like  _you deserve it_?"

    Harry's shoulders tensed with each question, his anger abruptly spiking as Voldemort spoke in that condescending, _understanding_ tone of voice. It angered him that the evil creature before him understood what he had gone through in his life, it angered him that Voldemort was _right._ Throwing caution to the winds, Harry gritted his teeth and shot his head up, spitting directly in Voldemort's snake-like face. The Dark Lord reared back, backhanding Harry across the face, but Harry barely flinched, just turning his head back to glare hatefully at Voldemort.

    " _Bugger off_ ," he snarled, watching with a distant satisfaction as Voldemort's lips thinned in anger and his crimson eyes blazed. The Dark Lord, deceptively calm, wiped the spit off his face and fingered his wand carefully as he began circling his captive once more. The Death Eaters, after hissing angrily and drawing their wands when Harry spat at their lord, began to settle down once more.

    "I believe that we have wasted enough time," Voldemort hissed finally into the silence. Suddenly, he pointed his wand at Harry and the rest of his clothes - including his shoes - vanished, leaving him strung up and naked in front of all of the Death Eaters.

* * *

  
    Harry had grown up being punished brutally for very many things, some big, most small. He had been taught not to intrude on other's privacy, and yet at the same time had not been granted his own. By the time Harry was able to go to Hogwarts, he had been shy and modest to a fault, his self-esteem nearly non-existent. He was always careful to look away when the other boys in his dorm would change clothes and he never even considered looking at another girl in a romantic way until fourth year. He hadn't been naked in front of another human in nearly a decade, since Petunia had refused to bathe him anymore, and so he was extremely protective over anyone seeing his scars and body. He was convinced that they would find him ugly and disfigured.

    And yet at this moment, bound, naked, helpless, and utterly exposed, he hardly cared that hundreds of Death Eaters saw his scars or his rail-thin body, or his recently-acquired feminine curves. In fact while Voldemort was making comments about his body, Harry was panicking in his mind. His shields were completely down, obliterated by Voldemort's assault. He had never felt a full blown Leglimency attack before and it scared him witless. There had been no control at all, even in his own head - which, in Harry's mind, was the only really private place he had ever had and would ever have - and Voldemort had just barreled in and chose whatever memory his wished.

    What if he had known that Harry knew the prophecies? They would have been gone in the blink of an eye, and Harry knew he would be dead right now. Harry's body trembled with fear, fear that he hadn't felt this strongly since his Uncle had approached him, drunk, with a knife. The same feeling of utter helplessness was there, knowing that he had absolutely no defense, no witty plan that could save him should Voldemort try again. Really, he was lucky that the maniac had just wanted childhood memories. There were other, more dangerous things that Harry knew: who the Phoenix Child was, Zephyr's existence, the location of the Order of the Phoenix and its members, Snape's spying, and... Draco accepting him as his life mate.

    Harry felt nauseous. What would happen to him if Draco was killed? He didn't even want to contemplate it; the idea of Voldemort breaking into his mind again was horrifying. _What can I do?_ He cried out mentally, beginning to sink into despair. Before he could, however, Zephyr's warm, calming presence enveloped his mind briefly before pulling away slightly. He felt the palm of his hand itch slightly, indicating where Zephyr's mark had moved, and he clenched it tightly.

    _Don't worry, Harry, remember that I am always with you. There is little that I can do to truly help without causing your pain, but I_ can _provide you with protection from Voldemort's mind. Unfortunately, it will take most of my strength and I will be unable to help you further if I shield your mind. But take heart! You can certainly escape him again, as you've done many times before. Trust in yourself, and in your friends and lover! You will find help and hope in them if you simply trust them._

With these words of encouragement, her presence faded from his mind. A moment later, Harry felt enormous relief as a thick, impenetrable shield encased his mind, so thick that not even Voldemort could enter. After examining them minutely, Harry sent a grateful thanks to his feathered companion, assured at least his mind, if not his body, was safe. That settled, Harry abruptly turned his attention back to his captor.

    "-should have the honor of drawing first blood. Well, boy? Come forward." There was a beat of stillness before a smaller form detached from the surrounding black and took a few steps forward, hesitating briefly. His hood was still up. Harry stared, confused. What was happening? What had he missed? When the figure spoke, however, all thought flew from his mind and his body stiffened in surprise. The voice was familiar, too familiar, though he hadn't heard it with such a respectful or hesitant tone before.

    "Master, do you think that _I_ should-" The arrogance was still there, certainly, and the rich, cultured tone was certainly unmistakable, but Harry still wished with every fiber of his being that Draco Malfoy was not in this room with him. Or, at least, most of him did. A small part of him yearned for the other boy to come closer, to touch him, to comfort him, to smell his scent and see his eyes, and that part cried out in dismay as he was cut off by a much harsher, cold voice.

    "Don't worry, young Malfoy, Mister Potter will not remember much of his visit by the time he is released, even if he _is_ able to speak. There is no danger of being exposed here."  
    Even now, some part of Harry's mind was denying that Draco was there, refusing to believe that his - what, friend? Boyfriend? Mate? - was there to see his shameful nakedness, his disgusting scars, his weakness. But the figure was raising his arm now, grasping the hood of his cloak and pushing it back as if in slow motion, revealing flawless, porcelain-white skin, soft threads of pale gold hair, and deep silver eyes that bore into Harry's own brilliant green. Harry's heart skipped and his breath paused for a long moment at the pure emotion that flooded Draco's eyes; worry, fear, even a hint of regret or affection. It was there, plain as day to those who knew him.

    Then it was gone as Draco let his mask fall perfectly over his face, those eyes dulling to a flat grey and an ugly smirk twisting his lips grotesquely as he turned his attention back to the Dark Lord. Voldemort himself had glided back to his throne and now sat on it smugly, watching the proceedings with a great deal of interest.

    "If that is the case, then I must thank you for this honor, my Lord." Quickly but elegantly, he bowed just low enough to indicate respect before straightening and turning to face Harry. He smiled cruelly and stepped forward, moving as slowly and sinuously as a panther stalking his prey. "So, Potter, my long-time rival. I must admit, a small part of me is regretful that you are in this position now when by rights you should be standing next to me - had you accepted my hand back in first year, of course. Though, that's a _very_ small part of me; the rest of me is unbearably pleased that you're here, strung up in front of us naked and helpless. You're finally getting what's coming to you, and _I_ have the honor of teaching you your first lesson: _never_ refuse a Malfoy."

    Draco had been approaching slowly as he spoke, circling Harry once before standing in front of him. Harry had remained silent thus far, warring with his emotions on how to respond to his mate, but now he was certain. As Draco finished his sentence, Harry looked him straight in the eye and gave him the slightest of nods, imperceptible to anyone else, and the corners of his lips twitched upward very slightly. Draco's eyes widened very slightly before he nodded back, understanding that Harry was giving him permission to hurt him and that anything that happened beyond this point was pure farce.

    "Oh shut up, Malfoy, you bloody prat!" Harry snapped suddenly, summoning his anger to fuel his lie as he nearly cut Draco off. "You couldn't care less about 'upholding the Malfoy name', you're just pissed that I make you look like a fool practically every day of your miserable little life! No wonder you had other people do the dirty work for you, everyone knows you can't duel your way out of a paper ba-"

    Draco abruptly backhanded him, stunning him into silence. It wasn't very hard at all, but against the already sore skin it stung bitterly. By the time Harry looked up again, Draco had already conjured a simple and elegant steel knife that he held easily in his right hand. His wand was held ready in his left hand as he raised the dagger to Harry's throat.

    "You really don't know when to shut up, do you, Potter? Someone always has to do it for you. _Silencio._ " Draco growled, pressing the knife closer in warning before pulling away and beginning to circle Harry, dragging the flat of his blade lightly along Harry's skin as he did so. Harry wisely remained silent, glaring at nothing as his skin goosefleshed in the wake of the cool steel against him. Draco came back round to stand in front of Harry once more, catching his eyes and holding them with the depth of the emotion that was in them. The sadness in them was spellbinding. In fact, Harry barely noticed the first bite of pain for what it was: Draco had pressed his wand into his skin, right above his heart, and was concentrating.

    When Harry felt the second searing cut open his skin, he couldn't help his body from jerking in a startled panic, the flight-or-fight instinct that had been honed for years into a tightly-drawn wire clamoring him to do something. Instead, knowing that there was nothing he could do, Harry simply hung where he was with tightly-pressed lips and a tense body, trying not to scream at the excruciating slowness of the wand tip tracing its way across his skin, simultaneously burning and cutting for maximum scarring. From experience, he knew that focusing on the pain would only make the time go by that much slower and so his mind automatically focused on a single set of details that he could lose himself in. This time, it was Draco's pale face, taut with concentration, eyebrows curled faintly in an expression of self-hatred and regret.

    Not being able to see what Draco was scratching into his chest, Harry could only feel the blood as it slid down past his navel and spiraled around his left leg until it pooled just below his toes. It seemed like forever, an occasional hiss of pain whistling through his teeth, but only five minutes must have passed before Draco stepped back, smirking smugly at his work. He said something - Harry was sure of that - but the Boy Who Lived had long since retreated into his own mind, not caring about anything besides ending the pain, and he couldn't comprehend what the words meant. Nor did he want to.

    His heart ached with despair and longing as Draco smirked a final time and turned away abruptly, his cloak swirling behind him as he pulled the hood back up. Draco casually passed the knife to the Death Eater next to him, and then the torture truly began. After this Death Eater - Lucius Malfoy - finished with his carving, there was another - Nott - and another - Rookwood - until Harry began losing track. If they were in view, his eyes never failed to take in his captor's face and memorize each feature with an almost eerie intensity that unnerved most of the Death Eaters - which, of course, caused them to dig in deeper with the knife.

    After about the seventh person, Harry lost his determination to keep silent, and more than once his mouth opened in a silent scream as his body jerked in pain. By the fifteenth person, his head was becoming fuzzy with blood loss and he had fainted once already, but Voldemort was quick to revive him. At one point, Harry was distantly startled to find himself looking into the very familiar coal-black eyes of Severus Snape from underneath a black hood, and he had barely registered the hidden shame in his professor's eyes before repeating the same process of forgiveness as he had Draco. The Professor's steady hand froze for a split second, apparently having expected Harry to either glare at him or be too far gone to recognize Snape, before the slightest of tremors shook his hand and he continued to cut into his flesh.

    Voldemort had apparently instructed everyone to leave his face and back alone - the first because Voldemort had already placed his scar there, and the second because "the muggle had already done such a good job on it" - but the rest of his body was free game. The only parts of his body that didn't hurt were his back (although his muscles were beginning to feel the strain of holding him up), his face, and, thankfully, his privates. After nearly two hours, a shorter Death Eater - even shorter than Harry - complained that he couldn't reach Harry's arm and there was some laughter and movement before Harry was removed and dropped to the floor. Before he could even contemplate escape, however, a wand was set against his throat as the short Death Eater quickly drew what felt like a snake winding around his arm. When he was finished, Harry was quickly strung up again and the events continued.

     From what Harry could tell when the pain was so great that he couldn't block it from his mind, most people were carving their initials or obscene words or a crude Dark Mark, but some were a bit more... creative. In fact, some people simply forwent the knife and just used him as a punching bag for a while.

    Time passed. He wasn't sure how much, but it couldn't have been more than three or four hours. After he finally passed out and couldn't be woken with _Ennervate_ , he was taken back to his cell. He was lucky that not all of the Death Eaters were there to take their turn - many of them had had to return to their homes or jobs after the first two hours.  
    
    Harry woke in darkness and laid still, wondering if he was going to stay awake. He had woken several times in the past but almost immediately had either passed out or vomited from the pain. This time, he didn't try to move at all, opting to just try and get his sluggish mind to start working properly again. His limbs throbbed endlessly and the pain was excruciating. He could barely think and his mind couldn't concentrate on anything, it continually jumped around to bits and pieces of what had happened to him in the throne room before flashing away to another memory.

    Unbidden, a stinging welled up behind his eyes and he couldn't stop a tear from dripping down the side of his face as he stared up into the darkness. More time passed as he contemplated the ceiling, not even able to draw comfort from Zephyr because she was exhausted from protecting his mind for so long. He thought about his friends and wondered if they were worried about him. He wondered if enough time had passed that Mr. Weasley had recovered. He wondered what the Order was doing to look for him.

    The next moment, he berated himself angrily. _I can't rely on the Order to rescue me every time I get myself into trouble. After all, it was my stupid stubbornness that made me an easy target. If I had gone straight inside St. Mungo's, then everyone would have been able to get inside and we could've sealed the doors. But... Shacklebolt, Tonks, and Moody probably would've stayed outside anyway, which means that the muggles on the street probably would've died in the crossfire. And besides, what if we wouldn't have gotten the seal on the door fast enough? The Death Eaters could've flooded St. Mungo's and killed the patients..._

    Harry sighed. He could try and go over the fight over and over again, but that wouldn't change what had actually happened. He had gotten captured, and now he was stuck here without a plan and without help. He had gotten himself into this mess, so he would have to get himself out.

    Feeling a bit more determined, Harry clenched his jaw and experimentally flexed his muscles. There wasn't as much pain as there had been before, but he could tell that his injuries were crusted over with blood and were in danger of tearing open once more if he moved too much. Briefly, he wondered how long Voldemort would keep him here - after all, if he didn't get these treated soon, not only would they scar but they would also be in danger of getting infected. He quickly ignored the thought and concentrated on moving very slowly.

    First, he tried to roll himself onto his front, and actually succeeded before he cried out in pain when the rough stone scraped against the cuts there. When no sound came from his throat, he realized that they had never taken off the silencing charm, which, in this case, was a good thing if there was a guard outside the door, but bad if he escaped and couldn't say any spells. After a long moment, Harry brought his arms underneath himself and sat up very slowly as his arms shook with pain, exhaustion, and weakness. Unfortunately, he was still naked, but at least the cell was somewhat warm so that he wouldn't get hypothermia.

    Slowly, very slowly, he managed to stand, clutching the wall for support, and he paused for a long moment to breathe deeply. This wasn't good. In the condition that he was in now, the only form of defense that he had was his magic, which meant that his very first priority was to get those bloody handcuffs off.  _Simple, right?_ Harry thought to himself, snorting silently.

    Before he could contemplate it further, however, he was startled by the cell door opening. He tensed up, fear and dismay sweeping over him as the Death Eater stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

    "Potter," came a tense whisper, vaguely familiar, from under the Death Eater's hood. Harry narrowed his eyes, staring hard as he tried to decide whether the voice was a threat or not. "Merlin, Potter, are you still sane? Don't just stare, boy, answer me!"

    Harry flinched at the word "boy", but he still glared at the Death Eater, who gave a sigh and yanked down his hood. The familiar coal-black of Snape's eyes glittered back at him and Harry gaped, silently mouthing _"Professor!"_ Comprehension dawned on Snape's face and he quickly waved his wand, muttering _Finite Incantum_ , and the silencing charm was removed. Before he could speak again, Harry gasped out in a hoarse voice:

    "What happened to me in McGonagall's office a month ago?"

    Confusion flitted over Snape's sallow face before a flicker of what seemed like respect settled in his eyes. "You became angry at Umbridge and the Dark Lord examined your mind. You turned him away with Occlumency."

    Harry relaxed a bit but didn't remove his intense gaze from Snape's face. "How long has it been? All of it?" He said hoarsely. Snape rolled his eyes impatiently at this, but answered, stepping closer and pulling out a few vials from his pocket.

    "A week since you were captured and nearly two days since your torture," he answered briefly. "And a month since you've eaten, apparently," he added, examining Harry's rail-thin body. Harry couldn't stop the blush that spread over his cheeks and he turned his body slightly to hide his privates.

    "It's odd that Voldemort waited so long," he said, doggedly ignoring Snape's snort at his modesty. "It's not like him to just let his enemies rot in a cell somewhere. Normally he likes to personalize the deaths." As Snape responded, he handed Harry the vials and gestured for him to drink them quickly.

    "Coupled with his resurrection and the 'duel'," he sneered faintly at this, "between you during the TriWizard Tournament, the Dark Lord is weak physically, if not magically. Some days it's difficult for him to even stand and instruct us on what to do. He had to gather his strength to even be able to walk around you and antagonize you as he did, and he's now recovering his strength. No doubt he will call on me any moment now for the instruction to brew more Dark Potions designed to help him recover. With each day, he becomes stronger as he acclimates to his new body."

    Harry was silent, digesting the information. Finally, he asked, hesitantly, "What about the Order? Was anyone hurt? How is Mr. Weasley? Are they looking for me?" Snape scowled darkly to himself as he watched Harry drink the vials. Harry immediately felt their effects in the way his pain lessened, his body felt revitalized, and his mind became clearer.

    "There were only a few injuries, since most of the Order had the sense to stay indoors and barricade danger from entering." Harry winced at the barb. "They are all healed by now, yes, including Arthur Weasley. They are all worried about you and your friends tend to physically assault me every time I enter Headquarters. I have told them nothing except that you are alive. The wizarding world at large continues to panic about your absence and the rumors are running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Fudge has not sent anyone to look for you, yet, which is frankly making the populace quite angry with him." His eyes glittered with contempt as he said this, before he became even more solemn and met Harry's eyes squarely.

    "The Order is planning your rescue, but I believe that you will either be seriously maimed, permanently disfigured, or dead by the time they arrive. That is why I've taken this incredible risk to contact you. I have been unable to do so before now, or else you might have been gone before your torture. Obviously, nothing can be done until those..." His eyes settled pointedly on the handcuffs before moving back to Harry's face. "... _things_ are removed from your wrists, but I can do nothing to help you. If there is any trace of foreign magic in this room or on those handcuffs, the Dark Lord will know that you have had help and my position would be compromised. However, no spells on those prevent physical damage-"

    Snape abruptly cut himself off as a flash of pain and fear came over his face and he clutched his left arm to his body. "I must go," he said tightly, backing away. "Find a bloody rock or something and break those open. Your magic will be restored to you, but you will have to find your own way out. The guard outside the door is under a sleeping spell that will wear off in less than an hour and he will not notice he has been asleep. Hurry and get the hell out of here, Potter, I cannot protect you." With that, Snape turned on his heel and left the room, shutting the door quickly after him.

    Harry stood still for a moment, processing all of the information that had been shoved at him after a week of little to no human contact. Most of it he pushed back to contemplate later and he started moving around the room to find a large and sharp enough rock to use to escape. At the moment, he felt immeasurably grateful to the Potion's Master and well as stunned. To be truthful, he had fully expected Snape to let him die at Voldemort's hand, if only so that he wouldn't have to teach Harry again next year.

    Harry's thoughts paused when his hands found a slight shelf of rock on the wall adjacent to the door that had a sharp edge. Trembling with excitement and relief, Harry carefully positioned the right handcuff on the edge and, before he could lose his nerve, began crashing the clasp against the stone. Pain jarred up and down his bruised and cut wrists, but this only made Harry work harder because he knew that the potions would only last for so long, and then he would be in even worse shape than before. As time passed and he methodically worked around the weakest point of the handcuffs, Harry began to get tired and he missed several times, scraping his hands or arms against the rock until they began to bleed.

    Finally, the clasp on the right handcuff gave way and he frantically pulled it off of his wrist. Immediately, he felt power flowing through his veins, his magic beginning to return to him after being cut off for so long. He used his magical sight to check the results of his work and nearly cried out with relief that the power of the handcuffs was significantly lower. He could probably use magic now without passing out from pain. As Harry looked up, however, he froze. There, in the corner of the room, was a small, bright aura of magic of the kind that only belonged to wizards and witches. The outline was small, though, too small to be human, and Harry narrowed his eyes and looked harder, a horrible suspicion growing in his mind.

    The aura was in the shape of a rat.  
     
    The bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach and a viciously wild feeling erupted in his chest. The answer to a great many problems was sitting not ten feet away from him. _Wormtail._ He must have been following Snape, Harry realized, and probably stayed to make sure Harry didn't escape. _Either that, or the fat idiot was too slow to get to the door when it closed._

The traitor hadn't yet realized that he had been noticed and Harry didn't give him a chance to. Driven by overwhelming hatred, his wandless stunning, freezing, and locking charms were as fast as lightning, so fast that they appeared to blend together and hit at the exact same time. Wormtail didn't stand a chance. Without wasting any more time, Harry made his way over to the corner as fast as he could and grabbed the rat, squeezing tightly around the middle as if to assure himself that it was real, that he had caught the betrayer of his parents and the proof of Sirius' innocence.

    Harry shook himself mentally. He could savor in the victory later, right now he had to get out of here. He ventured into his mind and came upon Zephyr, who seemed to be rousing herself after a long sleep. The absence of magic had been devastating to the magical creature and she was severely weakened, but after some debate, she assured Harry that she could take him and the rat to where the Order was located.

    _We must hurry,_ she whispered in his mind.  _Brace yourself, releasing me will require more magic than a few simple spells. The remaining half of the restraints will yet cause you pain._

Nodding, Harry did as he was told, and a moment later he felt the power swell up inside him as Zephyr forced herself past the magical block and slowly tore herself from his body. The pain was excruciating and Harry couldn't hold back a scream of agony as his arm felt like it was being ripped from his body. Within moments, Zephyr was settling heavily on his shoulder, gripping it slightly hard as he swayed.

    _Don't worry, Harry, I have you now. Just hold on for a few more moments and you will be home._ The phoenix sounded exhausted, but Harry couldn't find the strength to ask if she was alright. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to see Sirius and his friends again and be surrounded by people who loved him and cared for him. He was tired of being hated and abused.

    The next minute, a soft fiery glow enveloped the slight boy and the rat clutched in his hands, and there was a bright flash of fire before they disappeared and the cell was left empty.

* * *

 

    At Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the Weasley's (all except Percy), Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, and three Aurors were sitting down to a large dinner when a sound of rushing air and a soft thump sounded through the house followed by a soft cry of pain or surprise. The atmosphere of the room, already tense and heavy with sorrow and worry, seemed to be electrified as a phoenix song suddenly reverberated through the rooms and struck hope into their hearts. Simultaneously, everyone looked to the brilliant red and orange bird perched on a hat rack in the corner of the room, but Fawkes was silent, only looking a bit more alert as he opened his beak to answer the song when it faded.

    "Who was-"

    "Not Fawkes-"

    "No one else has..."

    "Only Harry-"

    " _Harry!_ "

    As one, several people cried out in realization and everyone stood and rushed from the room, heading to the entrance hall. There, they found the bloodied and battered form of a skinny, naked Boy Who Lived struggling to his hands and knees. Zephyr perched on his back, her magnificent wings extended in a type of hug that covered the boy's modesty.

    Harry looked up wearily through his dirty, matted bangs when the room flooded with people he knew and loved, with Sirius and Remus at the head. His head spun with exhaustion and pain, and he seemed to be having trouble concentrating on what was being said.

    "Oh my God, Harry!"

    "Merlin, Harry, what..."

    "Everyone stay back! We don't know what condition he's in, don't smother him!"

    "Bill! Fire call Madame Pomfrey, quickly!"

    "Harry!"

    Blinking slowly, Harry gained a bit more awareness and flexed his hand, realizing suddenly that he still held Wormtail in a death grip. Seeking out Dumbledore's face, he locked eyes with the Headmaster, his face suddenly stony and hard, suspicious. The room fell silent when he spoke.

    "What is the second line of the first prophecy?"

    " _Borne from ash and love undying..."_ Dumbledore replied promptly, his eyes suspiciously bright and twinkling even though his face had seemed to have aged ten years from the last time that Harry saw him. "It's good to see you again, my boy."

    Harry relaxed, allowing the ghost of a smile to curve his lips. "It's good to be back," he said hoarsely. Sirius broke the circle and stepped forward, almost hesitant, before he let out a choked cry and rushed to Harry's side, dropping to his knees to hug his godson. Harry winced but hugged Sirius as best he could with one arm, the thin limb wrapped around the back of Sirius' neck as the other hand grasped the limp rat. Remus moved forward as well, a bit more composed, though tears of relief stood out in his eyes. He held a cloak in his hands that he draped around Harry's emaciated form to hide his nakedness better than Zephyr could.

    "Harry, are you alright, mate?" Ron asked, earning a sharp swat on the back of the head by Hermione. "Ron! Could you be any more tactless?" Another faint smile illuminated Harry's tired face and his heart swelled with joy and relief at being back among friends. It made the aching that he felt for Draco's absence even more noticeable, but he pushed it away.

    "I'm alright, Ron. It's mostly just bruises and cuts."

    "I think I'll be the one to decide that, Mr. Potter." Harry cringed at Madame Pomfrey's chilly tone, watching as the mediwitch marched her way through the door of the living room, Bill Weasley trailing after her with an amused expression on his face. No doubt Poppy had had some choice words to say about Harry when she heard that he was injured again. "Let me through, stand back. Someone pick him up - gently! - and bring him up to his room. Quickly now!"

    Zephyr fluttered out of the way as Sirius bent to pick Harry up as gently as he could, one arm under Harry's knees and the other around his back. Harry's eyes and jaw clenched shut in pain and he curled a hand into his godfather's shirt, hearing the gasps as the cloak slid aside to reveal his legs from the knee down.

    "Merlin, Harry, what the hell happened to you?" Someone whispered into the silence and Harry buried his head into Sirius' shoulder, pretending not to hear. Each step was painful, but soon enough he was being laid on the familiar silkiness of his bed with Remus, Sirius, and Dumbledore in the room, with Madame Pomfrey setting up next to him.

    "Albus," Harry said, craning his neck to find the Headmaster.

    "Yes, my boy?" The aged wizard said, appearing at Harry's side immediately and gently taking his left hand. Harry grinned lopsidedly and held up a very familiar limp rat with his other hand.

    "I have a present for you. I caught him just before I escaped, but you should probably put him in a cage or something; he might wake up soon." The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was nearly blinding as he took the rat and conjured an unbreakable cage that would prevent him from changing back, placing Wormtail inside and hitting him with another stunning charm just to be safe. Sirius and Remus watched with gobsmacked expressions, eyes wide and mouths hanging open as they looked between Wormtail and Harry, who just smiled smugly at them.

    "He found out about Snape being a spy," Harry warned, "so be sure to erase about half an hour before he was captured before you take him to court."

    "I will, Harry," Dumbledore promised with a smile. "And I can't tell you how proud I am for restraining yourself."

    "Mr. Potter, if you would move your arm..?" Madame Pomfrey prompted and Harry did so, allowing the mediwitch to pull the cloak away from his body, exposing him to their shocked gazes. Harry blushed heavily and avoided their eyes, moving his arms feebly to cover himself.

    "Merlin... Harry, what happened?" Sirius asked weakly. Harry just shook his head slightly, not answering. Madame Pomfrey broke the heavy silence with a professional clearing of her throat. She conjured up the now-familiar Scribe quill and camera, which she sent whizzing over their heads.

    "Mr. Potter, when was the last time you ate?" Harry sighed, resigning himself to answering some questions.

    "I wasn't able to keep track of time, but I'd guess about three days ago," Harry answered quietly.

    "What was it?"

    "A bit of bread."

    "And before that?"

    "I was given bread once before that, but there was a never-ending bucket of water in my cell." Sirius flinched at the word "cell".

    "Do you think you could give me a brief outline of the circumstances that caused these injuries?"

    Harry sighed, glancing nervously at his godfather before looking away. "Um, the little cuts on my face came from the explosion just before I was captured. After they Portkeyed me to Voldemort's hideout, they beat me up a bit, but nothing is broken. Then, about four or five days later, I was brought to Voldemort's throne room. The Death Eaters... they used a knife to, um," he gestured vaguely to his bloody body with one hand, "...cut me. When I passed out, they took me back to my cell and I was there for nearly two days before I escaped. The worst injury is probably my wrists. These handcuffs..."

    He raised the hand with the intact cuff, the broken half dangling from the chain. "They're charmed to block my magic and they would hurt me every time I tried to use magic. Um... When the Death Eaters cut me, they hooked the chain and pulled me up until I couldn't touch the floor. I was hanging there for four or five hours and my wrists got cut pretty bad, not to mention later when I tried to break the cuffs against a sharp rock. I'm not sure how to get them off."

    "If you would permit me, Harry?" Dumbledore returned to Harry's side as the green-eyed boy nodded, reaching out and taking hold of the intact handcuff gently. He eyed the metal ring narrowly for a long moment before holding his hand over them and muttering a long string of Latin under his breath. He paused and seemed satisfied before pulling his wand and vanishing them. Surprised, Harry stared at his wrist, free of the hated metal, and he grinned up at the elderly wizard.

    "Thank you, sir. It's... a relief to have... t-them off-" He broke off, closing his eyes as he became light-headed and the room spun dangerously. Magic was rushing freely through his body, crashing through his mind like a tidal wave. His breathing hitched and wheezed irregularly as his body trembled. Suddenly, his thoughts scattered and his concentration flickered.

    "He's going into shock!" He heard a vaguely familiar voice cry out, and he wondered if they were talking about him. He had never been in shock before. "I have to begin treatment now, everyone get out. Albus, send up Molly. I'm going to need some help- Harry! Harry, stay with us!"

    "Molly! Come quickly!" Someone shouted frantically from the doorway and Harry's eyes fluttered open, panic swelling abruptly for no real reason.

    "S'rius? Sirius! Don't leave me, don't leave-"

    A hand grasped his tightly and a voice spoke near his ear, whispering reassurances and Harry calmed slightly.

    "Oh my, Harry!"

    "Molly, now's not the time for coddling, help me with him-"

    Spells were cast over and over, warmth flaring on different parts of his body as the magic touched him. Confusion was settling around his mind, the disorientation reminding him all too much of the time before he had found his mate. Without him knowing, a few tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes and he moaned, attempting to curl into a ball.

     "Draco, Draco-!" He struggled weakly when hands prevented him from curling up, a hand on his hip and chest causing a brief memory of Bryon Bradley to surface in his mind before it fell away. Another spell was cast and in the next moment his mouth was being forced open and liquid poured down his throat. Potions.

    Perceiving a threat, his magic lashed out and the hands fell away with a few startled or pained cries. Before he could panic, however, the potions kicked in and a comfortable calm fell over him. He relaxed slowly into the bed, his body unfurling and falling limp. He no longer cared that he was naked and exposed beneath their gazes. Lazily, his eyes opened, but they couldn't focus on anything for very long. Slowly, Harry felt his consciousness slip away, his hearing failing the last. Someone was crying quietly.

* * *

  
    Harry woke nearly a day later. The sun was shining brightly through his window and his head was pleasantly fuzzy and warm. He burrowed his face into his pillows and sighed, a slight smile on his face. He had had this dream several times in the dark cell in Voldemort's hideout.

    "Harry...? Are you awake?" Harry opened his eyes, blinking slowly as he processed the question. Hermione. Probably Ron, too.

    "Oi, mate, you feeling alright?" Yup.

    Harry turned over to face the ceiling and slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. His arms trembled dangerously, but he managed to lean against the headboard and look over to his friends. The vague pain that throbbed deep in his limbs wasn't usually part of the dream and he frowned, looking down at his bare chest, which was littered with very faint, white scars. Why wasn't he dressed? Catching sight of a certain scar on his side, his memory suddenly came flooding back and he paled, yanking the sheets up to cover himself.

    "Harry?" Hermione asked uncertainly, a hint of fear in her voice. "Ron, go get your mum, something's not right." The redhead nodded and glanced at his friend once more before hurrying from the room. Harry just stared at his bedsheets, absently rubbing the back of his right hand under the covers.

    "Harry? Are you alright?" Hermione asked again.

    The Boy Who Lived blinked and looked up at her, a bit of color coming back into his cheeks but his eyes remaining haunted. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine, Hermione. Just... thinking, is all." She looked faintly doubtful, but before she could question him, the door flew open and within moments, Mrs. Weasley was by his side, followed by a haggard-looking Sirius.

    "Harry, dear, how are you?"

    He smiled faintly at her, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "I'm better, just kind of confused when I woke up. What happened?" Sirius let out a breath and sank into the chair next to his bed, grasping his slender hand gently.

    "You went into shock," Mrs. Weasley replied, casting a diagnostic spell and smiling at the results. "After you passed out, Madame Pomfrey and I were able to heal your injuries; in fact, she left only a few hours ago. She left a bag full of potions that she said you were very familiar with."

    Harry groaned, sinking down into the pillows. Sirius chuckled.

    "Don't worry, kiddo, it's not as bad this time as it was the other times. You'll only have to take them for two weeks." Harry rolled his eyes with a wry smirk before becoming more serious.

    "Did she tell you everything?" He nodded, understanding what he was asking.

    "Yes, I was there with you the entire time. I had just gone down for some breakfast."

    Harry remained silent for a moment before looking over at his friends apologetically. "Um... Can I talk to Sirius alone?"

    Hermione nodded understandingly and dragged Ron from the room, giving him a look that said "We'll be talking later" mixed with something like sympathy. After a moment of hesitation, Mrs. Weasley followed with surprisingly little over-protectiveness. "You're healing fine, just stay in bed and rest, dear," was all she said before she left, shutting the door behind her.

    "Where's Remus?" Harry asked.

    "He's on a mission for the Order. Dumbledore figured that he should send him somewhere where he could cool off without breaking into Dumbledore's office and killing Wormtail." Sirius chuckled.

    "When will Wormtail be put on trial?"

    "Within days. Dumbledore's just gathering a bit more information to take out two or three birds with one stone." There was a feral edge to Sirius' grin and a bright glint in his eyes. Freedom was finally within his grasp and he was savoring the feeling.

    "So... Who knows?" Harry asked finally, not sure whether he wanted to know the answer.

    "Well, the Order knows about what happened during your captivity from Snape. He told us about the torture and his hand in your escape. I actually had to thank the git," he said gravely, an unreadable look in his eyes. "Dumbledore told everyone what you had told us, and I think that's pretty much it. I'm not sure how much your friends know... I think someone talked to them. As for the abuse... Molly knows for sure - she cornered Poppy after treating you - and Snape said that Voldemort left your back untouched, but I think everyone put two and two together and came up with four. Your friends don't know, but they had snuck up and were looking through the doorway when you went into shock and were struggling. They probably saw your back..."

    "And now Draco, too..." Harry added and fell silent for a few moments, contemplating how fast everything could unravel. His deepest secrets, the ones that he had kept for years, were now practically common knowledge among his friends. He wasn't sure how he felt about that; on one hand, he felt utterly depressed and angry at Snape, but on the other hand, it felt as if a great weight had been lifted off of his chest. The relief was warring with the fear, and it was winning.

    "So, how long will it take me to get better this time? In real time, not Pomfrey's."

    "Well, school starts again in a few days. You should be able to walk around by tomorrow, but your muscles are very weak from starvation and some of your leg muscles were injured by some of those bas- Death Eaters. You'll need to use a cane for about a month, but you should be completely fine by then... in fact, considering that it's you, you'll probably ditch the cane within the week." He grinned faintly, his eyes tired but relieved. "The scars... Poppy got to them soon enough that there was very little infection - though you did have a fever when you got here - and they only scarred a little bit. Most of them were thin and clean enough that they should fade within a year. The others... Well, none of them were as bad as the ones that your damn uncle gave you."

    Harry nodded, sighing as he sunk back into his pillows and slid down a bit. He was getting tired again. "I'm glad to be back," he said quietly. "I'm so tired of being hurt, Sirius. Can't I just be happy for a while before Voldemort comes to bugger it all up?"

    "I'm sorry, cub, I don't know why fate chose you to go through this hell on Earth. I don't know...  but you know I'll always be here for you, right? You can always turn to me and Remus for help. Merlin, you don't know how worried we were when you were taken. We love you, Harry."

    "I love you too..." Harry whispered, his eyes drooping in tiredness.

    "Rest some more, cub. You'll be up and moving before you know it." Harry didn't protest, but slid down the bed and wrapped himself in his covers.

    "Sirius," he mumbled tiredly. "Can you see if Draco can stay over before school starts? I haven't touched him in over a week... I miss him."

    There was a long moment of silence, and just before he slipped off into slumber, he heard, "Yeah, I'll see if he can come visit, Harry. Rest now..."

    A few days passed as Harry recovered from his capture. It was a bit awkward to learn how to walk with a cane, but he caught on quickly enough. His friends - Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins - managed to corner him and ask his about the scars on his back, even though it was pretty obvious that they knew it was abuse, and he was forced to tell the truth. He didn't tell them everything, of course, and he didn't even go into much detail. "My uncle hurt me a lot when I was a kid," was pretty much all he had to say about that, though when Hermione thought to ask him if it continued during the summers after Hogwarts, he was forced to tell her yes.

    There wasn't much talking after that except for a stern lecture from Hermione about trusting your friends and telling them when you were hurt, etc., but the subject didn't come up again for quite some time. There was plenty of Dursley-hating going around, but the twins figured that if he had dealt with it this long, Harry would be fine, especially since he wasn't living with the Dursley's any more. Ginny just felt pity for him and Ron and Hermione were miffed that he hadn't trusted them enough to tell him about it. It was a better reaction than he had ever imagined. He had thought that they might hate him for lying, that they would make fun of him because he was so weak, but in fact the reaction that he was beginning to hate the most was the pity.

    He knew it was there, he saw it in their eyes and body language, in the way they treated him. He knew whenever they thought about it because Ginny's tears would well up and she would treat him like a lost baby bird, Ron would become awkward and avoid his eyes, and Hermione tried to get him to talk about it. Frankly, it just made him miss Draco all the more.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry and Draco are reunited, and Harry is tested.

    The morning of the day before the end of Winter Break, Harry was woken by a huge black dog jumping on his bed and sitting on his chest, tongue lolling in an ecstatic grin. Laughing, Harry wrestled with him a bit before pushing him off the bed, which made the dog turn back into a man with a pop and scowl at him

    "To what do I owe this pleasure, Sirius?" Harry asked, smiling. The ex-convict's face immediately brightened into a blinding smile and he got up, pulling Harry into a tight hug.  
    "I'm free, Harry! I was pardoned and the Ministry was forced to stop looking for me!" He crowed triumphantly. Harry gaped, sitting down hard on his mattress.

    "Wh- Really? You're free? You're free!" Harry let out a whoop and tackled Sirius in a hug that left them both breathless and with tears in their eyes. Every dream that Harry had ever had, about someone coming to take him away from the Dursley's, about a loving family, about someone who was close to his parents... it had all come true. "What happened? Why now?"

    "The trial was yesterday," Sirius replied, surreptitiously wiping his eyes, "and Dumbledore built up such a convincing case that they _had_ to let me go. Peter was sentenced to life in Azkaban and I was given an official pardon and compensation from the Ministry. I can walk out of this house right now and no one could arrest me!"

    "That's great, Sirius!" Harry laughed. "What did the Minister have to say about it?"

    "There was nothing he _could_ say, though it was pretty obvious that he wasn't happy. I say to hell with him, I was his scapegoat for the entire war! It doesn't matter what he thinks any more, though, since Peter's confession was practically proof that Voldemort has come back and the public won't listen to his blustering or lies anymore." His eyes glinted with disgust. "Besides, Peter also told the court about a certain deal that was made between His Honor Mr. Fudge, Dolores Umbridge, and one Lucius Malfoy to 'teach Harry Potter a lesson about lying' through a 'fake' kidnapping. Fudge and Umbridge kept trying to say that they hadn't known Malfoy was a Death Eater and would actually harm you, but of course no one believes them."

    Harry sat, taking it all in. Wormtail, Lucius Malfoy, the incompetent Minister, _and_ Umbridge taken down with one blow! A smug grin tinted with mischievousness spread over his face. "There's going to be some changes in the Ministry, isn't there?"

    Sirius matched his grin with one of his own, ruffling Harry's hair as he did so. "Yes, there certainly will be, cub."

    After Harry showered and dressed in loose jeans (they might have fit better before, but he was still trying to gain his weight back) and a jumper over a button-down, they headed down to breakfast together. There was a burst of applause and many hearty claps on Sirius' shoulder as he made his way to his seat as people congratulated him. There was even a cake being made by Mrs. Weasley. Harry sidled over by his friends, grinning, and sat down between Ron and Hermione.

    "Good to see you back in active service, Black," he heard Mad-Eye growl Sirius, a lopsided grin on his grizzled face. "Competent Aurors are nearly impossible to find these days. You'll be up to commander in no time and you can whip those worthless carcasses back into shape!"

    "Sirius was an Auror?" Harry asked incredulously, trying to imagine his godfather in a blue uniform and breaking up barroom brawls. He had always thought of Sirius as the kind to _start_ brawls rather than end them. Ron gave him an odd look.

    "Why are you so surprised? The war was still going on when they got out of school and the Aurors were probably on war-time duty." Seeing that Harry still looked nonplussed, he elaborated. "That means that they get pulled off the worthless assignments and go out fighting Death Eaters, interrogating prisoners for locations, and stuff. If the Ministry announces the war with Voldemort again, the Auror's will probably be back on war-time duty."

    "Oh, that makes sense," Harry mumbled. He could definitely imagine Sirius doing that. Hermione looked interested.

    "The muggles do something similar to that during a really big war," she said, sounding like she was launching into a lecture. "I've read about a time during the 1600's when a captain of the British muggle army..." Ron and Harry met gazes with a roll of the eyes and an exasperated look. Breakfast began with a lot of chatter and laughter, especially when George managed to shake Sirius' hand and turn his hair bright blue. Unfortunately, this reminded Harry of a time when the twins had turned all of the Slytherin's hair red, which in turn reminded him of how Draco looked with hair as red as a Weasley's. He felt a sharp pang of overwhelming pain and longing at the mere thought of the Slytherin, and he felt his mood deflating slowly.

    He hadn't asked for Draco to visit since that first night, but he had been feeling the blond's absence for much longer than that. It was just now that it was becoming a nearly constant pain. At times, he even wondered if the magic-blocking handcuffs had restrained a large part of his own phoenix instincts, like they had weakened Zephyr. If so, they were probably the only reason that he wasn't insane or nearly catatonic over Draco by now.

    "Well, Potter, I haven't seen you since you arrived," Moody grunted from his place across from Harry, breaking his train of thought. It was true; nearly everyone else had seen Harry since he came back, but Moody had been gone. "You keeping up with your training?"

    "Yes, but I don't think I'm in the condition for a duel at the moment," Harry said wryly, smiling. Moody snorted and thumped his wooden leg underneath the table.  
    "Never stopped me before."

    Harry's smile widened and he looked at the old Auror appraisingly. "Yeah, I guess you're right about that. You want to give it a go?"

    " _Harry!_ " Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and, surprisingly, Sirius gasped in horror when they heard this, but Moody was grinning like a madman, his fake eye spinning approvingly.

    "I can't just sit around doing nothing," Harry said convincingly, standing up and setting his empty plate in the sink. "Come on, Moody, you old warhorse. Let's see what two cripples and a piece of wood can do."

    "I'm right with ye, laddie," Moody growled, sounding positively delighted. Harry led the way, leaning heavily on his cane. They limped through the halls and entered the training hall, Harry wincing slightly as he stood five paces away from the center of the room. Moody took up his place five paces away from the center as well, opposite the scarred boy.

    "How do we want to do this? Free for all, no Dark spells, and no counter-spells?" Harry suggested, feeling a bit nervous now that he was actually face-to-face with the former Auror. After all, Mad-Eye Moody was legendary! Moody grunted in agreement, pulling his wand. Harry just clenched his slim cane a bit tighter and began counting down from five. At the moment that he hit zero, both men exploded into action. Moody rolled to his right, shouting a freezing spell as he did so, which missed Harry, who had dived to his right as well and shouted a stunning spell. The bolt of red light sprung from his outstretched palm, missing Moody by inches.

    They both stood again, testing their weight and watching the other warily. Harry winced and rubbed the side of his leg surreptitiously, stopping quickly when he saw that his opponent had noticed. They circled each other, shouting a spell occasionally to try and trip up the other, but not succeeding. Finally, Moody made his move. He jumped to the side and muttered a spell under his breath that shot at Harry with a deadly blue light who, not recognizing it, dove to his left. He was stunned when the spell followed him and hit him broadside. He flinched in anticipation of pain, but nothing happened. Cautiously, he rose to his feet and gave a questioning look to Moody, who just grinned wolfishly and attacked again.

    It happened as Harry was sending a volley of spells at the older man, just as the reflection spell left his lips. Abruptly, his vision faded to pitch black and he stopped abruptly, blinking in surprise and confusion. He realized what happened a moment later and haphazardly threw himself to the side in an attempt to miss the spells he knew were coming, banging his elbow hard against the floor as he did so. Gritting his teeth, Harry shakily stood and shuffled out of the way of the spells he could sense coming while simultaneously conjuring a familiar golden shield.

    Using the limited skills he had in blind fighting, Harry shut out all sounds except those of his opponent, trying to sense where his target was and where he would move next. He was fortunate that Moody was so large and ungainly, with a leg that made a sound every time he moved. His magic was obeying his every command, seemingly glad to be reunited with him again, and his senses were sharper, clearer than he could ever remember them being. Tensing and gripping his cane tightly, Harry pinpointed the man's location.

    _Now._

    Harry suddenly vanished into an explosion of movement, pushing his weakened muscles as hard as they could go as he sprinted directly toward Mad-Eye. The old Auror was undoubtedly surprised, as Harry had been careful to exaggerate his limp and his pain before they had started the duel. At the very last moment when he knew that the shock would wear off, he dodged nimbly to the side - feeling a white-hot heat graze his cheek as he did so - and leapt forward as gracefully as a deer in full flight. Raising his cane like a sword, Harry slashed it down with all of his considerable will-power behind it. Though he couldn't see it, Harry could feel the shock wave of power as a great scythe of pure white energy sliced the air in the wake. When the power faded and the magic residue danced in the air like tiny sparks of lightning arching to each other, Harry was crouched at the fore of a large gouge in the floor of the training hall.

    After a moment of tense silence, Harry allowed himself to drop to the floor in a graceful reclining position, his legs crossed Indian-style in front of him and his arms supporting his upper body from behind. Cocking his head, Harry blinked his large, brilliant green eyes as he felt his vision returning. When his vision cleared however, his mouth dropped open and he sat up, blinking again, this time in shock.

    "What the...? Merlin!" He breathed in horror as he took in the destructive path his spell had caused. It died out just before it reached the walls, but that's where Moody lay crumpled, unconscious. Swallowing hard, he quickly stood and grabbed his cane before limping over to the ex-Auror. He knew that Moody was just unconscious - the spell had just been a glorified stunner, after all - but he hadn't expected such destructive results.

    Kneeling by Moody, Harry whispered a quick _Ennervate_ and shook him gently on the shoulder. "Moody? Mad-Eye, are you alright?" There was no response and Harry frowned in worry, leaning closer, but froze in the next second as he felt a pressure against his throat. Moody's eyes cracked open and his gaping grin spread over his face.

    "Never assume that your enemy's down until he's dead, Potter, remember that," he grunted, poking his wand a bit harder before withdrawing it. Harry stood, massaging the spot with one hand as he smiled ruefully.

    "You got me there, Moody. I thought I had really knocked you out for good."

    "Oh, you did," he said cheerfully, or as cheerfully as a growl could sound. "My shield broke under your spell and I was knocked out. Gotta say that I've never seen an attack like that since I traveled to the Asian islands in my training days. They don't make wizards anywhere else in the world like those Asians. Whole different branch of magic there."

     "Yeah, well that always happens when I get wrapped up in the magic. Look," he held up the remnants of his cane, which was just a stick nearly half its previous length, the end tapered to a charred point. "I used my new cane as a focus and I overpowered it again! Merlin, Mrs. Weasley's going to kill me if I keep charring stuff... It's worth it if I beat you, though."

    Moody snorted. "You didn't beat me. Your compassion let me get my wand in yer throat; I got a fair win."

    "What? I knocked you out first! Don't I win?" Harry asked indignantly.

    "Not in my book, laddie, not in my book." The former Auror chuckled, a chilling sound, and they limped to the doors together arguing good-naturedly.

    As they exited, Harry didn't notice the small group of people that unveiled themselves after their footsteps faded. Sirius, Tonks and Shacklebolt smirked smugly as the small group of ten or so rookie Aurors gaped in varying degrees of shock.

    "That, boys, was a fifteen-year-old boy who just spent the last week being starved, beaten, and tortured by Death Eaters in Voldemort's headquarters," Tonks said exuberantly, grinning with no small amount of pride. "Granted, Harry Potter isn't a normal boy by any stretch of the imagination, but older and more experienced men than him have lost to Alastor Moody."

    "I've got to say that it hurt when Harry did that attack to me," Sirius said, wincing. A few men started, not knowing he was there, and eyed him warily as if they weren't sure whether he was really on their side. He had only been pardoned the day before, after all.

    One of the young recruits worked his mouth wordlessly, eyes wide. "That... that was impossible!" He stammered. "He didn't have a wand! And that last attack didn't even use a spell!"

    "There _are_ such things as wandless and wordless magic," Sirius retorted, looking positively gleeful. "Just because no one's ever seen it like this before - not to mention _together -_ doesn't mean that it's not possible."

    "That was Harry Potter?" Someone muttered. "I thought he was taller." Sirius stifled a snigger at this.

    "Can you feel that?" An older recruit asked another under his breath, awed. "You can still feel the magical charge in the air."

    "Normally you wouldn't be able to feel that," Shacklebolt lectured, immediately garnering everyone's attention. "You only feel a discharge like that in very powerful wizards and when wandless magic is being used. Without a wand to channel and contain your spells as you use them, a greater amount of magic is used and lost to the surroundings. Mr. Potter is very unique in the fact that the nature of his magic not only allows him to use wandless magic with ease, but often overcharges his spells to the point where they destroy anything he uses as the conduit for that power."

    "Why would he need to use a conduit?" Someone asked.

    "Harry hasn't completely mastered wandless magic yet," Tonks explained. "He is extremely close; at the moment, he only needs something in his hand that he can use as a focus to channel his magic through. Soundless magic is much easier for him."

    "Merlin..." someone breathed. "Just how powerful is he?"

    Shacklebolt shrugged. "We've never given him a test. What you must realize is that Mr. Potter was raised as a muggle, and he has no concept of how amazing his ability is. When his wandless ability began emerging, he didn't even realize he was doing it, and it was only after he used someone else's wand and fried the core that he remembered reading somewhere that wandless magic was supposedly impossible."

    "There's no doubt that he's off the charts," Tonks said bluntly. "If not now, then for sure when he's an adult. His magic hasn't even fully matured yet."

    There was collective intake of breath and a few people cursed under their breath.

    "Amen to that!" Sirius barked out a laugh. "It scares me pants-less sometimes, but it never worries me because I know that Harry will always be on the side of Light. He would never hurt anyone purposely. Did you see how worried he was when he thought Moody was hurt?"

    "Looked like he just sat down like he'd just finished playing a hand of Exploding Snap," someone muttered.

    Tonks' jawline hardened and her eyes glinted coldly. "That's because he was blind for the last half of the duel," she snapped. "Or didn't you notice? Moody cast the Blinding curse and Harry recognized it, but since the rules were that they couldn't counter any spells that hit, he just knocked out the caster. He probably didn't realize how powerful his attack was."  
    "I wouldn't want to tell him either," Sirius grumbled. "Harry couldn't care less just how powerful his potential is... he probably doesn't even _want_ to know. It would just embarrass him, or frighten him. He hates being unique, and with power like he has, he would probably worry endlessly about losing control or accidentally tearing up rooms." He gestured to the destroyed floor as he spoke. "Even now, he's probably just passing off what happened here as a strange reaction between his magic and Moody's..."

    "...But he's wrong," Tonks concluded grimly. A contemplative silence fell over the group as the recruits pondered the mysterious puzzle that was Harry Potter. The magical charge continued to spark in the air, flickering purple and white in the dim room.

* * *

  
    Later that night, after lunch, Harry begged off a game of chess to retreat up to his room to, supposedly, take a nap. Truthfully, though he _was_ tired, he was mostly feeling lonely. The duel had reminded him of his first duel with Sirius during the summer, when Draco had taken him up to his room and Harry had practically snogged him, and the insistent ache in his chest was nearly unbearable. Sighing, Harry pushed open the door to his room and limped inside, closing the door behind him before turning and flopping back on his bed.  
    Staring up at the ceiling, Harry smiled faintly as he remembered how much had changed in their relationship. After the rivalry between the Gryffindors and Slytherins suddenly lost its importance over the summer, Harry had been able to see just how attractive and clever the blond was, which eventually led to the discovery that he actually found Draco arousing. It was before his instinctive urge to seek his mate kicked in, so he at least knew that he had been bisexual.

    Of course, their relationship had been extremely slow in advancing, but it evolved from heated glances, to light necking, to a heated snog and a mind-blowing first kiss. Of course, it was mind-blowing to Harry - he didn't know if it was as amazing to Draco, who had admitted that he had had his fair share of "relationships", but Harry liked to think that flushed, glazed-over look that Draco had had was something that was quite rare for the icy blond.

    Harry closed his eyes and licked his lips unconsciously, remembering what had happened that night. Draco's hands sliding down his back to cup his arse, the softness of Draco's fine hair between his fingers, the hot mintiness of his mouth, the hardness of his cock pressed against his thigh... Harry let out a soft moan, a blush spreading across his cheeks as he felt himself growing hard. "Draco..." he whimpered, his voice husky. He could almost feel Draco's soft lips brushing over his own now, Draco's hands brushing over his body and grazing across his chest, a soft breath of minty warm air caressing his cheek...

    Harry's eyes snapped open as he felt a light weight settle on his stomach, pressing down with an almost comforting familiarity. Staring up in confusion, Harry couldn't see anyone, but the next moment his eyes fluttered closed as a warm, slender hand trailed up his shirt and settled lightly over his heart. Slowly, he raised his hand and grasped at an invisible, silky cloth, dragging it down until Draco's body was revealed. The invisibility cloak fluttered off the bed and pooled on the floor, but neither boy noticed, their lust-darkened eyes catching hold of each other. Draco was dressed in his customary aristocratic outfit: black slacks, soft grey sweater over a white button-up, and a green tie that was half undone. His feet were bare. His silvery-gold hair was swept to the side by the invisibility cloak and there was a light blush to his cheeks that drew attention to his dark, mercurial grey eyes and completed the rumpled look.

    The Slytherin was straddling Harry's waist, the slight grin on his face and the amused glint in his eyes making it clear that he felt how aroused Harry was. That wasn't to say that Harry couldn't also feel Draco's erection pressing into his stomach when the blond leaned forward to capture his lips in a searing kiss. Harry's hands moved as if they had a mind of their own, sliding beneath Draco's shirt and traversing the smooth expanses of silky skin he found there before moving down to cup Draco's round arse. Draco let out a low groan at this, grinding down to press Harry's hard cock between Draco's soft flesh and causing Harry to gasp, stars exploding behind his eyes.

    "Draco..." Harry mewled breathlessly, back arching as the Slytherin pressed down again before attaching his lips to the green-eyed boy's neck and suckling softly. Another wave of arousal swept over Harry, heading straight for his cock and he bit his lip. "Draco... ngh... don't, no... we've got to... stop."

    "Not when you're talking like that," Draco murmured in Harry's ear before moving to capture his lips again and nibble lightly on his swollen bottom lip. Harry allowed himself to be pulled into another kiss, but he felt a growing urgency to stop. Something was wrong here, and he tried to wriggle out of Draco's grasp to concentrate on the problem, but the Slytherin had him firmly pinned down. Draco continued to rub himself against Harry's swollen member, causing Harry's breath to become heavier and more erratic.

    "Ah... ngh... Draco, no... we've got to stop... I- Ah! I.. don't want..." Draco ignored Harry's protests and sat up a little, sliding his hands back down Harry's body to the waist of his jeans. One slim hand reached down to cup Harry's balls through the thick fabric, rubbing firmly as the other hand worked at releasing the button. Harry's back arched again and he squeezed his eyes shut, a keening cry torn from his throat. This was going too far. They hadn't even talked yet. He wanted their first time to be better, more... He wanted-

    Draco ignored Harry's whines of protest and pulled open Harry's pants, revealing the large bulge in Harry's boxers. With a wicked grin, he reached down and grasped Harry's turgid length firmly. He only got in one good stroke through the thin cloth, however, before he abruptly thrown back from Harry's body, nearly falling off the other side of the bed and letting out a startled grunt. Harry lay where he was for a moment, letting his dazed head clear a little bit before he sat up. He caught Draco's eyes, darkened by lust and something else, and a deep blush crept up his neck and over his face.

    "D-Draco, what's going on?" He asked, confused. "I told you to stop... Ah!"

    He was cut off when Draco suddenly lunged forward again, pinning him against the mattress and holding his scarred wrists tightly in his hands. The blond's face was twisted with anger and frustration, and Harry felt fear flicker to life deep in his soul at the power Draco held over him. It was difficult for Harry to willingly hurt his mate, but nothing was stopping Draco from hurting him. Harry felt tears gather in the corners of his eyes and his body fell limp. _You sure can pick 'em, Harry._

    "Why, Draco..?" This time, he got his answer.

    "Why? _Why?_ " Draco whispered harshly. "What does it take for you to get angry at me, Harry? Before you _hate_ me? Do I have to beat you? Embarrass you? Rape you?" He reached down and grasped Harry's half-hard cock again, squeezing tightly and watching as Harry let out an involuntary groan, his back arching.

    "Ngh! D-Draco... no, wait.."

    But Draco ignored him, squeezing tighter and drawing a yelp of pain from the skinny boy on the bed. "Is that it? Do I have to steal your innocence from you? But you're just a little whore, Harry. Look how you’re aching for my touch, arching into my hand. Do you hate me yet, Harry? I don't think you do." Harry couldn't take it anymore. With all of his strength he shoved Draco away from him and rolled off the bed, landing on the hard floor with a heavy thump. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he stood up and backed away a few steps, warily eyeing the blond still on the bed.

    "Damnit, Draco, what's going on? What do you want from me?" Harry snapped, the aroused flush fading from his cheeks as his anger took over. The blond got off the bed and stood not three steps away from Harry, his mercurial grey eyes hard and flinty with anger.

    "I want you to hate me," he growled. "I want you to realize what a farce this relationship is! We've hated each other for years! That doesn't just vanish over the summer! And even if it did, even if I _do_ feel some affection for you, I _cannot_ deny the Dark Lord, Harry. He is too powerful. And I'm too weak." He yanked up his shirt violently, exposing his pale chest to Harry's horrified gaze. The Dark Mark stood out blackly against Draco's flawless alabaster skin, grinning horribly, triumphantly above the Slytherin's heart. "I cut into your _skin_ , Harry, with a knife that _I_ conjured. I've become one of the creatures you hate most." His voice dropped to a mocking hiss. "Do you hate me now, Harry?"

    _"Not that you are worthy of knowing, Luciuss, but there are many different ways to Mark a follower, and many other places to Mark besides their arm..."_

    There was a beat of silence as Harry's gaze darkened, his eyes becoming a hard as flint and nearly sparking with emotion. "No!" He snapped fiercely. "I trust you, Draco Malfoy, and _nothing_ can change that! _Nothing_ , do you understand me? Yeah, I'm angry when you pull stunts like this but I will _never_ hate you." He strode forward, grabbing a hold of the blond's collar and staring up into his face. "You were doing what you _had_ to do; Voldemort _forced_ you to do it. I understand that completely - I understood it back then! - and I forgave you. I can't expect you to drop everything and live in the dungeons in Hogwarts for the whole war, I know you have your own plans and I respect them. You have to rebuild the Malfoy name while trying to stay alive, and you can't do that if you're against Voldemort, not when he would kill you for just going neutral on him."

    Harry's eyes softened and his grip loosened on his mate's shirt. "I promise that you won't have that mark on you forever. I'm learning as fast as I can in order to defeat him, and when I do, you can rebuild your life without Voldemort hanging over you. Until that happens, everything that happens to me, no matter _who_ does it, _everything_ is Voldemort's fault. Do you understand?"

    Silence spread through the room. Draco's eyes were dark and unusually uncertain as he searched Harry's eyes for the confirmation that what Harry was saying was the truth. After a long moment, he swallowed hard as whispered huskily, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

    "Good. Don't _ever_ do that to me again," Harry said flatly, relief warring with annoyance and worry. He leaned up, pressed a chaste kiss to Draco's soft lips, and pulled back, blushing slightly at the bemused expression on Draco's face.

    "Why, Potter, I thought you wanted to stop?" He drawled, a lazy smirk curling his lip. Harry's blush intensified but he just scowled up at the blond, a slight pout to his swollen, red lips.

    "Well, this time you're not threatening to rape me," he retorted.

    "Really?" A single eyebrow arched cockily. "Well, I still feel horny and your pants are still undone, so I don't see the difference, frankly." Harry opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Draco swooped down and captured his lips in another fiery kiss. The shorter boy gasped, allowing Draco to slip his tongue in and explore the soft heat of his mouth as Harry's thin arms automatically lifted and wrapped around the Slytherin's neck. Draco's hands clasped Harry's slender waist securely before he began rubbing his sides lightly and letting his hands drift down to cup Harry's arse.

    "Ngha..." Harry groaned softly when his reawakening member rubbed against Draco's body. Quickly, he pressed several hot, open-mouthed kisses along Draco's neck and then pulled away, breathing hard. "All right, no more of that," he panted lightly. "I can't stand it." Draco's swollen lips curved up as he let his eyes drift downward, hungrily taking in Harry's unbuttoned, loose jeans that were just barely clinging to his hips. Seeing the direction of his gaze, Harry flushed, a pleasant feeling bursting in his chest, before he ran his hands down his body and drifted over his own erection before grasping the zipper and pulling it up. Draco let out an involuntary groan at the loss.

    "You're such a tease," he complained. Harry smirked, sauntering closer and climbing onto the bed, scooting up to sit against the headboard. Draco followed his lead, settling next to Harry with just their arms touching.

    "We just need to cool down, that's all," the black-haired boy replied wryly. "Before one of us explodes."

    "Probably you," Draco said off-handedly, examining his nails. "You're a lightweight for snogging."

    "Right, I'm a 'lightweight' because I haven't built up a resistance by snogging everyone in the school?"

    "Exactly."

    "Well, I noticed that you were having a _hard_ time controlling yourself a bit ago..." Harry murmured, tilting his head to lightly kiss Draco's neck as his hand drifted to squeeze the Slytherin's thigh. Draco just gave a non-committal hum in response, leaning into the touch. They sat in silence for a long while, eventually shifting until they leaned closer together, Harry's hand still on Draco's leg.

    "So what happened?" Harry finally said, his voice quiet. There was no question about what he was referring to.

    "The next day, I saw in the paper that you were kidnapped by Death Eaters," Draco replied, his voice equally soft and even. "I hadn't heard anything about it, but that wasn't surprising since my father isn't home very often. He came home that morning, though, and I had to act casual. I asked about the paper, and he went off on a smug speech about how weak you were and what a blow your death would be to the side of Light. I pretended to slip some signs that I was more interested than I seemed, and he asked me if I wanted to see my school enemy suffer."

    He paused.

    "I said yes. He wouldn't let me to go to the hideout until the actual... torture, so I just had to spend those days wearing a hole in the carpet of my room. When I went and saw you there... I felt sick. I didn't show it, of course, and I put up a fairly good act in front of the Dark Lord, but I was dying inside. When I cut my name and my family/birth rune above your heart, I was sort of... claiming you as my own. It's an old rite that most purebloods have forgotten or assumed that I meant it in a mocking way, but I was completely serious. Luckily, it bled enough that most of the outline was impossible to see, or else I might have had to answer some questions.

    "When you were taken back to your cell, the Dark Lord and my father cornered me when they noticed how I had 'enjoyed' it. They wanted me to join right then, but I managed to hold them off. Then you escaped and my father had to go into hiding... the Dark Lord found me then, and gave me an ultimatum. He needed a pawn with the Malfoy name that he could still use, and my mother's in France. If I hadn't taken it, he would've killed me. After he... marked me, I went home to an empty mansion and went through my father's study. He had booby-trapped it pretty well, but I _am_ his son _and_ a Slytherin, so it wasn't too much trouble to get all of the incriminating evidence and Dark Objects that I could find. I put them all in a locked and sealed trunk that I hid until I can use it after the war to clear my name.

    "Then, Dumbledore contacted me and told me that you wanted me to visit before school starts again. He included a personal Portkey that took me here not long before you came up."

    "And the invisibility cloak?" Harry asked, awe and curiosity in his tone.

    "I nicked it from my father," Draco shrugged easily before a mischievous grin spread over his face. "And that's not all..." He leapt off of the bed to the fallen invisibility cloak and rummaged in one of the pockets before pulling out a very familiar, red holly wand. Harry's eyes bugged out incredulously and he gaped.

    "Wh- How- Merlin, Draco! I could kiss you!"

    "Please do," Draco smirked, twirling the wand nimbly between his fingers before handing it over. "It had been in my father's things. Apparently he must have either gotten a hold of it first, or was trusted with it. He'll be in for a lot of pain when he has to tell the Dark Lord that it's gone." Harry grinned and enthusiastically threw his arms around Draco's neck, kissing him hard. Draco's hands automatically slid up Harry's shirt, rubbing the skin around his slender waist and skirting lightly around his scars. Harry sucked in a breath and deepened the kiss, overjoyed at the slight signs that Draco didn't mind the scars.

     They were locked in a heated kiss, Harry's arms locked around Draco's neck and his hands buried in that soft hair while Draco's hands were slowly exploring his back, Harry's shirt bunched up around his wrists. Their bodies were pressed seamlessly together, like two puzzle pieces, and this was how Harry's friends found them.  
  
    While the pair were so involved with each other that they didn't notice the door open, the small group outside the door certainly noticed what they were doing. They managed to stifle their gasps, but Ron's choked spluttering was what inevitably gave them away. Harry stiffened at the sound and tried to jump away, a light flush on his cheeks and a horrified expression on his face, but Draco's arms locked him into a possessive grasp that prevented him from moving much.

    Harry struggled weakly, scowling at the blond. "Dra- er, Malfoy, let me go!"

    "No," Draco replied simply, a blank expression on his face. "They've got to learn to accept it. To accept that we're in _love_." His voice abruptly became coated with syrup and he face took on a lovestruck expression as he pulled Harry close to him again. Harry struggled for a minute before he realized that he was holding back snickers of laughter, and so he just gave up. Pressed as close to Draco's chest as he could get, Harry gave a sheepish and apologetic look over the curve of his mate's arm, a faint blush still spread over his cheekbones. It was mostly directed at Ron (who looked like he was on the verge of an apoplectic fit) since Hermione was looking at them rather like they were a pair of fluffy kittens instead of former rivals.

    Ginny and the twins, on the other hand, still looked completely gobsmacked - which, in Harry's opinion, was quite an achievement, considering Ginny's quick tongue and the twin's voracious appetite for humor. The reactions, when they came, were quite frightening.

    "Well, I guess he's not sleeping," were Hermione's first words, her expression wry.

    "!!!!" Ron couldn't speak at first, his face flaming red and his mouth gaping like a fish. "Merlin's balls! Co- Couldn't you get a roo- Do you have to do that her- Malfoy- Th- there are ladies prese - OH GOD, MY EYES."

    "Don't worry, Harry, I've got your back! Let him go, Malfoy, before I blow your head off!" Ginny's eyes were blazing as she pulled her wand, pointing it directly at Draco's head. "And I've got a Bat-Bogey hex that won't miss!"

    "Did you just see what I saw, old boy?"

    "I believe I did, old chum."

    "Draco Malfoy, slimy Slytherin, smirking snake, sodding sassy Sassoon with slicked-back hair-"

    "Not so anymore, Gred!"

    "-Once-slicked-back hair? The same Draco Malfoy who has charmed and shagged half of the girls - and boys, I'd wager - into his bed with his sexy body?"

    "The very same, brother! And who does he have wrapped in his claws this time? Harry Potter, shy and slim, slender and sexy, modest and - maroon, at the moment, I believe - powerful and princely?"

    "And more, Forge! And what were they doing? Greasing the fireman's pole, sucking face, bumping, grinding-"

    "All right, that's enough!" Harry said loudly, his face nearly as red as Ron's as he tried to bat away Draco's hands, which were sliding up his shirt again and massaging the skin lightly.

    "But we barely started!" One said, a smug grin on his face.

    "Besides, your beauteous beau seems to enjoy the commentary," the other added, indicating Draco, who was still insistently trying to grope Harry. The Boy Who Lived rolled his eyes. Ginny still had her wand trained on Draco, though her expression was confused.

    "Wait, so this is a good thing? And Harry's gay?"

    " _No!_ " Ron shrieked, but he was ignored.

    "Yes, aren't they so cute together?" Hermione cooed, making Draco smirk.

    "Can't you see, baby sister? They're in love! All of that sexual tension must have fried their brains, making them think they hated each other."

    "No, I really hated him," Harry muttered dryly. Draco bit down lightly on Harry's neck in response, still holding him protectively.

    "All right, people, I think they want their privacy now!" Hermione said loudly, finally taking charge. "We've barged in on them long enough, and Harry's still tired from his duel. Let's go down and play Gobstones for a while... Harry, dinner starts in an hour. Er, you too, M-Draco." The Sytherin practically ignored her, intent on coercing Harry into losing his shirt. Harry shrugged apologetically.

    "Thanks, Hermione, we'll be down in a while." He elbowed Draco, who grunted and finally looked up, hair mussed and clothes rumpled.

    "Yeah, thanks, Granger."

    This made Ginny, who was being herded out of the room along with her brothers, crane her neck around to stare incredulously at the blond. "Did I just hear _Draco Malfoy_ thank someone?" Their voices floated farther away as she spoke, but they both could hear the twin's sniggered response.

    "Yeah, he's whipped."

    At this, Draco stiffened, his voice cold and dangerous as he said, "Keep saying crap like that and I'll tear your face off, Weasley," he called after the group just before the door closed. Harry let out an exasperated sigh and dropped his head back onto Draco's chest, still smiling but closing his eyes in exhaustion. The energetic duel with Mad-Eye had drained his strength more than he thought possible, and he just hadn't noticed with the adrenaline running through his system, but now his leg muscles were throbbing and cramping, and he felt a headache growing. He didn't even want to think about the conversation between himself, Ginny, and the twins when they managed to track him down. Since he couldn't tell them about being mates with Draco, they'd probably just end up thinking he was insane. It was a testimony of how much the Dursley's teachings still affected him when he couldn't even trust his own friends not to abandon him.

     Harry's thoughts were abruptly cut off as he felt himself being swept into the air bridal-style, with Draco holding him close to his chest. Emerald green eyes flew open and he clutched at Draco's shirt to keep his balance, staring up with eyes wide in surprise.

    "Eh? W- What're you doing?"

    "You're tired," Draco stated with a raised eyebrow, as if Harry was slow. "I'm taking you to your bed." At Harry's amused and puzzled expression, he added, "And don't look too much into that." Harry chuckled, but paid for it when Draco dropped him unceremoniously on the bed. Harry pouted up at him, but flushed a little bit when the blond laid down next to him and promptly closed his eyes, appearing to go to sleep. Harry smiled and settled down as well, dropping off to sleep minutes later.

* * *

 

    Harry woke slowly an hour later, his head fuzzy with tiredness and his body warm and heavy. Opening his eyes, he felt a momentary flash of panic when he saw that Draco was not lying next to him, but it disappeared when he saw the Slytherin lounging casually in the chair in the corner, reading a book. A warm feeling settled in his chest at the sight. Sitting up, he stretched languidly, wincing at the soreness of his muscles, and got up, limping heavily into the bathroom. He never noticed the appreciative gaze that slid over his slender form, but when he returned, he saw that Draco was up and readjusting his clothes in a mirror.

    There wasn't much talking before they headed down the stairs, Harry transfiguring a random sock into a cane on the way and leaning on it heavily. His muscles were killing him. Draco was giving him a few side glances, but Harry determinedly ignored them. As they got closer to the kitchen, however, Draco began drifting a bit farther away, his face hardening into the familiar unemotional mask as if he were entering a war zone. Which was probably not far off...

    There was a low wolf whistle and a few large, evil grins when they entered and the room was silent for a long moment. Ginny seemed to have gotten used to the idea and she was watching them closely with a calculating and faintly amused expression. Ron ignored them, Hermione smiled cheerfully, and the twins were winking and waggling their eyebrows. Everyone else just greeted them before turning back to their conversations. Or, mostly everyone. As they made their way to a couple empty seats, Mrs. Weasley swooped down on Harry carrying several very familiar vials, setting them next to his plate and engulfing him in such a quick hug that he had no time to do anything but let out a startled squeak.

    "There you are, dear," she said warmly, eyeing his skinny frame with sad eyes, but not saying anything. "Be sure to take those after you eat a full plate. You too, Draco dear," she added, her eyes sweeping over the blond critically but not without kindness. Draco tensed even more, as if expecting an attack, but the plump woman just tutted disapprovingly. "Honestly, children these days never feed themselves properly. Skinny as a bean pole, the whole lot of them!"

    She turned away and resumed her bustling around the kitchen, leaving Draco and Harry to glance at each other incredulously before taking their seats next to Sirius. "Did someone talk to her?" Harry asked quietly, leaning in his godfather's direction. "In fact, no one's really making a fuss about Draco yet..."

    Sirius winked at him, grinning. "Don't worry about it, cub, I gave them a good talking to. I didn't go into too much detail, but they're satisfied for now. Molly's just glad to save someone else from starving themselves." The meal began soon after that and everyone broke up into their own conversations, interrupted only by a request for gravy or bread. Draco and Harry were mostly quiet as they listened, one evaluating the members of the room and the other still basking in the relief of returning to his friends. Moody (his magical eye still fixed in Draco's direction, even though he was around when Draco was there during the summer) was recounting Harry's and his duel a few hours before to Sirius and Bill, and Mrs. Weasley was preparing a few more place settings at the table while listening to their conversation with half an ear and tutting. The rest of the Weasley siblings were speaking together quietly, glancing over at Draco and Harry once in a while, and Harry made a mental note to watch them carefully in the future. Hermione was reading a book.

    Draco snorted at Harry's side and the Gryffindor turned, cocking his head questioningly. "This has got to be the strangest moment of my life," Draco said, amusement flickering in his eyes. "I have no idea where the house I'm in is located, sitting at a table eating dinner with all of the Gryffindors I've ever hated or made fun of, and I just woke up in bed with Harry Potter. Either I'm in hell, or someone up there is laughing their arse off at me right now."

    Harry snorted with laughter. "I've been wondering that for my whole life. Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

    When the meal ended, Harry headed toward the living room with a reluctant Draco in tow, determined to break the ice with his friends over a game of Gobstones or Exploding Snap, but before he made it across the entrance hall, he felt the wards shiver a split second before the door opened. Pausing, Harry felt a brilliant smile spread over his face when he caught sight of Remus' tired face. "Remus!" He cried out joyfully, his eyes brightening into brilliant emeralds. The werewolf's head shot up in surprise, his own eyes brightening, and he hurried forward to embrace the smaller wizard carefully.

    "Harry? How are you?" He asked warmly, checking over the injured teen surreptitiously. He saw irritation flash in those green eyes briefly, but it was repressed quickly as Harry assured him that he was fine. The smile on Harry's face flickered and discomfort immediately stiffened his posture when he saw Arther Weasley behind Remus, watching them with a smile. The kind man stepped forward and greeted Harry as well, lowering his voice to a murmur that the Slytherin could not hear. As the three reunited, Draco stood off to the side of the entrance hall, peeved at the lack of attention and firmly stamping down the part of his mind that was uncomfortable and envious of Harry's loving "family".

    He wouldn't tell Harry that his adoptive family, mainly those still at Hogwarts, had cornered him in the library after Harry had fallen asleep and Draco had gone looking for entertainment. The Granger girl and the Weasel had mostly stood off to the side (looking conflicted and pleased, respectively) as he was interrogated about his motives by the rest of the Weasley clan. The meeting was tense and fraught with insults and insinuations on both sides, but eventually the Slytherin was able to get across that he wouldn't hurt Harry and that he cared for his well-being (though of course he didn't say so outright). The torment had only ended when Granger had put a stop to it, reminding them that dinner would be starting soon and Harry would need to be woken. Draco knew that the two members of the Golden Trio had wanted to know his answers to those question just as much as the twins and Ginny, and the only thing that had prevented them from doing something similar at Hogwarts was that they knew that Draco was Harry's mate and that Dumbledore didn't seem to be worried.

    Personally, Draco couldn't understand why Dumbledore continued to trust him, even though Draco himself knew personally that it was unlikely that he would ever willingly betray Harry. Despite himself, the cold-hearted Slytherin had become somewhat frighteningly attached to the smaller, deceptively fragile boy. Not like he would ever admit anything like that to anyone... it had taken him this long just to admit it to himself.

    Draco was broken out of his thoughts by Harry finally acknowledging his presence and asking him a question. The conflicted Slytherin pushed his confusing mass of emotions off to the side for the moment and formally greeted his former professor. He resolved to suck it up and change his attitude toward his mate's family and friends a little bit, if only to make the transition to the Light side a bit easier for everyone.

   

* * *

 

    The next morning was the familiar whirlwind of movement and anxiousness that accompanied the Weasley family as each student attempted to find everything they needed for the return to Hogwarts. Draco had left late the night before, claiming that he still had some financial matters he needed to attend to at his manor. Harry watched the chaos from his position at the top of the stairs, his thin legs threaded through the gaps in the banister that lined the hall overlooking the entrance to the mansion. In the wee hours of the morning, when a nightmare had woken him, he had taken care of all of his packing before retreating into the library. Hermione, having completed her packing the night before, was sitting next to him in the same position, reading out loud to him passages from one of her numerous books on wandless magic, trying to help as he absently practiced on levitating small objects from the floor below.

    "You're a fat lot of help, aren't you?" Ron whined as he dashed through the hall and into his little sister's room. A shriek of anger from Ginny soon followed him and his yelp of pain sent both Harry and Hermione into laughter. Harry's soft chuckles soon faded as his eyebrows lowered once more in concentration. He had been trying to master this for months, and he knew that if he could only master the focus and precision needed to control his magic properly, it would be just the major step he needed to further his mastery to even greater heights. The fact that he was having trouble mastering even the basics of wandless levitation frustrated him to no end.

    Seeing the frown that was beginning to darken Harry's expression as he attempted to levitate the small rubber ball lying on the floor below, his surrogate teacher quickly broke him out of his thoughts, careful not to startle him with her touch. She had tried that once before while he had been training, and the results had been nearly disastrous. After they had repaired the broken lamp, Harry's anger, fueled by fear and worry, had been frightening.

    "Remember to relax, Harry," Hermione said soothingly. "We both know that you can do this with strong emotions; the point is that you can do it without having to work yourself up." Harry let out a long breath, nodding to show her he understood. She watched him worriedly for a moment before continuing comfortingly. "Remember what Professor Dumbledore says: if you have to use emotion, joy is far more powerful than anger. It's sort of like a Patronus, if you think about it that way. Now come on, focus on the ball, and bring your magic up to the surface..."

    She began reciting the same set of instructions that Harry had told her Dumbledore used when he was teaching Harry, having extracted the details of one of the wandless magic lessons from Harry. After learning that Harry was powerful enough to be capable of learning wandless magic, she had determined to help him study in any way she could, just as if it was an assignment in school. Of course, he hadn't been able to make use of her lessons very much before he had been captured, but he was finding them to be useful now. He could feel his frustration calming down, aided by the soft singing in his mind from Zephyr, and Hermione's voice faded into a comfortable hum as he fell into a meditative state easily. Focusing his eyes, mind, and magic on the small rubber ball far below him, he banished his feelings to the back of his mind and allowed himself to wait calmly and patiently. For what, he wasn't sure, but an odd feeling was coming over him… something different and significant.

    Suddenly, it was if something clicked into place, and he raised his arm slowly, as if in a trance, and extended it through the gaps in the banister. " _Wingardium Leviosa,_ " he whispered, almost as a request rather than a demand, and he felt a vague surprise when the ball immediately leapt into the air. Lazily, he let his hand and fingers dance in the air as if plucking the strings of a puppet, following the ball with his eyes as it soared through the air like a Snitch. Finally, he let it drop to the floor and bounce a few times before pointing at it and beckoning silently with a twitch of the finger.

    _Come. Accio._

    The words drifted into his mind and Harry, still in the odd trance-like state, knew for certain that it would work. Just as countless times before, he felt his magic reach out like an extension of his arm and wrap around the object he was focused on, but this time he smoothly and confidently "flexed" the appendage. The ball zoomed into his waiting hand. As soon as his hand clenched around the pliable ball, however, the trance abruptly evaporated, and he found himself staring dumbly at the ball in his hand with wide, disbelieving eyes.

    "W-what... How..?" He stuttered. Hermione squealed in delight and threw herself at him, squeezing tightly.

    "You did it! You did it, Harry! Oh, that was wonderful!"

    Dazed, Harry could only manage a sort of half-grin. "I... I don't even know how I knew how to do that."

    "Oh, we all knew you could do it, Harry. It just took a little time to set in, that's all. Try again!" Uncertain, Harry let the ball drop to the floor below and bounce a few times before rolling against the leg of a chair against the wall in the entrance hall. He smoothly slipped into the familiar meditative state, attempting to set his mind in order and provoke the calm confidence that had overtaken him before. It still took some time, but he noticed a marked difference in the amount of time it took before he was ready to try again. Extending a hand, he concentrated and wordlessly summoned the ball to himself. He felt the strain a bit more, but the ball still soared smoothly into his hand and the spell was broken. This time, he let the delighted grin spread over his face as clenched the ball tightly in his hand.

    He had done it. He had actually done it without a focus. And wordless, no less! He had no doubt that it would take more practice, but the first step had been taken.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which school begins again, and the fic ends.

  
    "Kids! We're leaving in ten minutes! Hurry up!" Mrs. Weasley's magically enhanced voice reverberated through the house, causing Harry to clap his hands over his sensitive ears. Her voice faded and Hermione and Harry grinned at each other, hearing the Weasley siblings scrambling even more to get their things together. The two stood up and levitated their trunks down the stairs (Harry tried to do it wandlessly, but it proved to be too difficult for him) with their wands to the entrance hall before heading back upstairs and helping the siblings pack up so that they could leave.

    Fifteen minutes, countless scoldings, and several heartfelt goodbyes later, everyone had been piled on the Knight Bus (along with Harry's Advance Guard) except for Sirius since Dumbledore thought it might be a bit too soon for him to be seen in public. When they reached the Platform 9 3/4, Harry said goodbye once more to his surrogate family, including Shacklebolt and Moody, before getting on the train with his best friends. Somehow, they had arrived early and they were able to claim their favorite compartment while the crowd was still sparse.

    "I'm not leaving this compartment until we reach Hogwarts." Harry declared as soon as he slumped into his seat. Leaning his cane against the wall next to him, he caught his breath and rubbed his weakened thigh muscles absently. Hermione's expression was both disapproving and amused.

    "You've got to face them sometime, Harry," she chided. "It's best if you just get it over with already."

    "Lay off, 'Mione," Ron said, his tone only faintly annoyed. "You can't blame him for not wanting people to gape at him like a circus animal and ask him questions about V-Vol- You-Know-Who's hideout. I'd want to put it off for as long as I could, too." Hermione and Harry shared a stunned glance, surprised at Ron's perception. He frowned at them but his friendly blue eyes were light with amusement. "Oh shove off, both of you. I'm not  _that_ thick," he huffed.

    Not long after that, the train whistle blew and with a lurch, they were on their way. Only twenty minutes later, lulled by the rhythmic movements of the train and still recovering from his ordeal during the break, Harry fell asleep in the corner, wrapped snugly in his cloak. Knowing how infrequent a restful sleep was for the Boy Who Lived, his friends let him be, silently agreeing not to let anyone into the compartment while Harry slept. Unbeknownst to Harry, many people had come by the compartment to catch a glimpse of the exhausted boy, but his friends had herded them away like protective guard dogs.

    They arrived at Hogwarts just in time for the welcoming feast and Harry woke in time to see his friends turning away Neville Longbottom apologetically. Sitting up and wincing at the stiffness in his joints, Harry rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times, yawning. Glancing out the window, he jumped when he saw the darkness outside.

    "Blimey, did I sleep the entire time?" He asked, stunned. His friends grinned at him, happy to see that he looked more alert and awake than he had that morning.

    "Yeah, mate, it was the most boring train ride ever," Ron mock-complained. Harry apologized profusely, blushing when Ron had to point out that it was just a joke.

    "Right, well, we better put on our robes then," Harry said, embarrassed. They all dug around in their trunks and pulled their robes over their clothes, just as the train was beginning to slow down. Hermione paused in retying her hair, frowning when she saw Harry readjusting his cuffs beneath the sleeves of his robes. Before this year, Harry's wardrobe had consisted of gigantic shirts whose sleeves reached to his elbows, and it was only thanks to Tonks that he had been given some variety. Even then, however, he had been a bit uncomfortable with showing so much skin on his arms. Now, she could see that he hadn't worn anything above his wrists since he had gotten back from Voldemort's lair, and she couldn't help but think that it wasn't healthy for him to cover up his scars and pretend like they never happened.

    "Harry, are you sure you won't be hot in the castle once school starts? You can't wear long-sleeved shirts everyday."

    "Wanna bet?" Harry breathed to himself before answering her question. "Don't worry about it, 'Mione, it's just for today. Tonight I'm going to cast a glamour charm on myself, just in case." Hermione's frown only deepened at that, and seeing another lecture coming on, Ron rolled his eyes.

    "Harry, glamour charms can be very difficult and energy-consuming if you try to keep them on all day, especially when you cover your whole body with it. It could be dangerous!" By the end of her explanation, Ron had become solemn as well, recognizing the danger for his best friend.

    "Yeah, that doesn't sound too smart, Harry," he agreed worriedly. "Besides, you never used one around us."

    "And we still didn't see anything." Hermione chimed in. "You always wore long-sleeved shirts, even back then."

    Harry sighed in defeat, sure that they wouldn't have minded if he had tried something similar in the year before. Did they think he was made of glass? "Alright guys, I won't do it. I'll just have to be extra careful." Despite himself, he felt a warmth blossom in his chest at their concern, basking in the simple affection between humans that most people took for granted. As the train pulled to a stop, Harry stood and opened the window, letting Hedwig out of her cage to fly to the Owlery. Then he grasped his cane and took a few deep breaths to steel his nerves, finally looking up at his friends and giving them a wan smile.

    "Let's get this over with," he said simply, reaching forward and sliding the door open.

* * *

  
  
    "Hey Harry," Ron said, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth and quickly following it with a gulp of pumpkin juice. "What took you so long? I woke you up ages ago!" Hermione had long since given up on trying to associate with Ron while he was eating, and only now looked up from her Potions textbook in order to smile at Harry, who greeted them both as he sat down. He ignored the few curious stares that followed his movements as he shrunk his cane and stuck it in his pocket. It had been two days since they returned from Christmas break and speculation was still running rampant around the school: a wild tale involving Harry fighting off fifty Death Eaters while he escaped (getting his leg cut off in the process) was just one of the more credible ones.

    "Just putting it off until the last minute, Ron." Harry replied, scooping some jam onto a piece of toast. "Honestly, I would've thought that people would have emptied out already. Classes start again today."

    "They wanted to see you. A lot of people care about you, Harry; they're worried about you."

    The green-eyed boy snorted quietly, not buying Hermione's words for a second. Frowning, she opened her mouth to say something, but Ron nudged her in the side, hard, to get her to be quiet. She changed what she was going to say at the last minute, lowering her voice and glancing around conspiratorially.

    "Harry, a few members of the DA were wondering if we were going to have a meeting today. A sort of welcome back and review day, you know? And even if you don't think anyone else cares if you're okay, you know that the DA care about you." The major portion of Harry's mind - the part trained by the Dursley's to think of himself as a freak and a burden - heartily doubted this as well, but he was wise enough to stay quiet.

    "Yeah, that's not a bad idea," he said instead, digging out his DA medallion and rubbing it in between his fingers thoughtfully. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he felt his efforts being rewarded as the coin grew warm in his hands and he opened his eyes to see that the meeting was set to that night at eight o'clock. Across the dining hall, he could see heads coming up and hands reaching into pockets to grasp their warm medallions, and he let a small, secret smile come over his face. He supposed that the DA was no longer necessary, considering that Umbridge was gone and the Ministry had gone back to minding its own business, but as long as the Defense Against the Dark Arts position remained empty (Dumbledore had announced that he was attempting to find a decent teacher before the end of the year), he wouldn't mind teaching the group a few more things.

    "Oh! Hurry up, you two, we'll be late to Potions!" Hermione gasped suddenly, slamming her textbook shut and leaping up from the table. Stuffing a last bit of toast into his mouth, Harry stood also, balancing himself lightly on the table with one hand as he extracted the tiny stick that was his cane. Wordlessly, he enlarged it and limped to meet his friends at the head of the Gryffindor table. As the class gathered in front of the Potion's classroom, there was a slight spat (not entirely feigned on Hermione and Ron's parts) between the Golden Trio and Draco's group, but it was interrupted when the door to the classroom clicked open.

    This made the Slytherins shut up and go inside, but not before Draco sent them a final sneer. Shaking his head slightly, Harry and his friends followed them. Entering the classroom and claiming the back table as per usual, Harry shrunk his cane once more and pulled out his notes and a quill while waiting for Snape to enter. When the Potion's Master did, Harry's automatic glance up caught briefly on Draco's expression across the room, and his breath caught in his throat at the cold disdain on the Slytherin's face. He was very nearly glaring at his supposed "favorite" teacher. Not wanting to draw attention to himself or Draco, Harry turned his attention to the man that had undoubtedly saved his life in the heart of Voldemort's lair, hoping that the Slytherin would take the hint.

    Apparently he did, or else no one noticed, but either way the rest of the lesson passed smoothly. After Neville's cauldron had boiled over and he was sent to the hospital wing while everyone else finished bottling their potions, Harry took his time cleaning up his table. He wanted to speak to Snape. Finally, the bell rang for the end of class and the students emptied the room quickly. Motioning for his friends to go on without him, Harry waited until the classroom was empty before approaching the desk. Snape ignored him.

    "Uh, Snape..." He began, causing the Potion's Master to jerk his head up with a scowl at Harry's impertinence.

    "Yes, Potter, what is it?" He snapped.

    "Sir, I just wanted to thank you for what you did for me," Harry said quietly, unperturbed by Snape's tone like he might have been a couple years ago. Snape just scowled at him, ignoring the thanks.

    "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Potter, so if you're finished spouting off your nonsense, you can leave to your next class.  _Immediately._ " Letting a small smirk quirk his lips, Harry bowed his head fractionally and did just that, leaving the bitter Potion's Master to contemplate the mystery that was Harry Potter once more. Despite himself, Snape had recently found himself constantly reevaluating the haunted teen, noting the distinct differences from the year before that even he couldn't deny. Potter seemed to have discovered his Slytherin side over the summer, his green eyes calculating though haunted, his posture confident but unobtrusive. And he was powerful. Snape, after being surrounded by different types of power his entire life, could instantly recognize the amount of power Potter held. Snape shook his head slightly in disbelief. Perhaps it had always been there and he had merely overlooked it, but surely Potter himself would have felt it. The amount of potential in the boy could not have gone unnoticed.

    Snape remembered the day after Potter's birthday, when the teen had discovered that the Dark Lord had attacked the street he had lived on. The Potion's Master had had to keep himself from consciously flinching when the boy's aura had been released, not expecting such a young child - a Potter, no less - to have the power and will necessary to release the amount of concentrated magic needed for a physical representation of his aura. Snape had only seen that happen twice in his life: once with Dumbledore's royal blue, and once with the Dark Lord's black and green. He did not care to remember either experience.

    For the first time since he had ever met him, Snape wondered just what Harry Potter had been through in his short life. The revelation in the Dark Lord's throne room had certainly been unexpected (if it hadn't been the Dark Lord who was describing the abuse, Snape would've thought that Potter was just blowing everything out of proportion), and Snape hadn't been able to suppress the brief flicker of concern in his chest, but luckily it hadn't shown on his face. Abuse would explain a lot of the change that had occurred in Potter, especially considering the severity of the scars that Snape had glimpsed on the young boy's back. Even now, as he thought about it, there was a small surge of emotion in Snape's mind, something resembling anger and protectiveness or even understanding. What kind of horrors had Potter seen or endured that would make his eyes so haunted, so despaired, and yet so very strong? Snape knew that some of the most powerful of magics were directed through emotion alone, and with the strength and power that Potter held, he might someday rival even Albus Dumble-

    Snape abruptly shook his head, doing the mental equivalent of a double-take. What had he been thinking? If he wasn't careful, he might feel something resembling respect or - Merlin forbid -  _awe_  for the brat. He had spent too much time in the dungeons, Snape decided, and the silence was making his mind wander to dangerously hopeful areas. He knew the first part of the prophecy about Potter, but he couldn't afford to think for a moment that Potter could actually  _defeat_  the Dark Lord. Such thoughts were dangerous, especially in the mind of one who was regularly invaded by the Dark Lord. It was  _impossible_...

    Nevertheless, even if the thoughts were buried deep in his mind, Snape couldn't completely keep his subconscious from mulling the idea over, and his interest in the Boy-Who-Lived was steadily growing.

* * *

 

    Harry, meanwhile, was just entering the Defense classroom at a hurried limp, exhaling a relieved breath when he saw that there wasn't a teacher in the room yet. Smiling apologetically at his friends, he made his way to the seat they had saved for him and sighed as he sank gingerly into it. Ignoring the awed and fascinated stares that followed his movements, he extracted his wand from his robes and shrunk his cane, tucking it away in his pocket. The attention shifted from him abruptly, however, when Albus Dumbledore strode through the classroom door in his signature blue robes with starbursts on them, looking as chipper and lively as if he were thirty years younger. Harry groaned quietly, earning a few stares. He couldn't  _wait_ to see what the eccentric old man had in store for him.

    "Good morning, class!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, beaming at the stunned students. "I mentioned at the welcoming feast that I have yet to find you a replacement teacher, but young minds still need filling and what better than an old mind to do it! And so, I will be your teacher for the time being!" He dipped his head in a low bow, the pointed end of his hat nearly touching the desk but somehow managing to stay on his head. He straightened. "First off, if you would all leave your school supplies here and follow me into the Great Hall, we will see what you have learned so far. Wands only, please!"

    The class chattered excitedly to themselves as they left the classroom, Hermione, Ron, and Harry near the back since Harry had needed to use his cane. They exchanged amused glances as they overheard comments like "Wow, we get to use our  _wands_?" and "Shouldn't the Headmaster be doing something more important?" and "Bugger! I haven't learned anything in this class all year!" The group filed into the Great Hall, seeing that the House tables had been moved to the sides of the room, and Dumbledore instructed them to gather in a group while he gave them their instructions. Harry hovered with his friends at the back of the group, feeling a bit anxious as he listened. The class would face the Headmaster for a miniature duel to evaluate their abilities, at which point they would return to the classroom for a group evaluation using oral questions.

    Harry resolved to be very, very quiet. Maybe Dumbledore would forget he was in the room.

    The first few duels went by very quickly. Most of the students were nearly shaking in fright at the thought of facing the most powerful wizard in the world in a duel and they ended up losing their concentration quickly. When the first of the DA - Pavarti Patil - was called up, however, Harry was surprised at the warm flush of pride that burned fiercely through his chest when she managed to last twice as long as everyone else. A deep satisfaction twinkled in his brilliant eyes when he caught Dumbledore's slightly surprised but knowing glance as Pavarti was released from her Full-Body Bind. Next to him, Hermione had to suppress the smug smile that threatened to burst onto her face when she saw Harry bask in the results of his teaching experience. Having helped with their peer's tutelage, Hermione knew that the feeling of pride and protectiveness was nearly addicting, and she was glad that Harry had found something that he enjoyed so much.

    By the time Harry's name had been called, there was a clear division among the classroom between the DA and the rest of the students. The DA was so advanced in comparison that suspicion and confusion was clear in the whispered interrogations that were going on. The DA merely said that they had studied on their own or joined a small study group in defiance of Umbridge's bans. When Dumbledore called Harry's name, however, the whispers rose to a soft murmur before falling back to silence as the Boy Who Lived limped forward. Though his face was impassive, Harry dreaded the duel. He was absolutely certain that he wouldn't come anywhere near defeating the Headmaster, but Harry had to be sure not to reveal too many of his abilities while not straining himself physically. His muscles were strengthening daily, but climbing the many staircases in Hogwarts was still difficult.

    Taking a breath, Harry turned to face his opponent once he was ten paces away, meeting Dumbledore's blue eyes (which were twinkling at full force with pride and liveliness) and never moving his gaze, he bowed respectfully. Straightening, Harry tapped his cane to shrink it and gripped his faithful wand firmly. He prepared himself to be hurting tonight since it didn't look like Dumbledore would be going easy on him. Dumbledore threw the first spell.

    Harry threw himself to the side to dodge, landing lightly on the balls of his feet and returning the attacks with his own salvo. Almost immediately after they began, the balance of power between the two was tenuous, with both of them constantly switching from the offensive to the defensive and dodging each other's lightning-quick spells. The entire class watching with stunned awe as the dueling platform was transformed into an amazing array of colored lights and small explosions and shimmering shields, the two duelists nearly impossible to see in the interplay.

    Dodging what he suspected to be a tripping curse, Harry grimaced when he landed awkwardly on his right leg, feeling the weakened muscles straining to the point of cramping. He was so focused on trying to stabilize himself that he only managed to dodge the next curse purely on instinct. The landing wasn't nearly as successful as the last, however, and Harry's leg gave out beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor. Before he could blink, he was frozen by  _Petrificus Totalus_  and staring up at the grey, snowy ceiling in frustration. A split second later, the spell lifted from his body and he sat up, wincing painfully at the renewed pain in his limbs. Brightly colored robes entered the edge of his vision and he looked up into Dumbledore's twinkling eyes.

    "Most impressive, my boy, most impressive. Are you alright?" He reached his hand down and Harry grasped the wrinkled hand with a strong grip and was hauled to his feet. Tapping his cane to enlarge it, Harry leaned on it heavily and smiled crookedly.

    "I'm fine, thanks Professor. You went easy on me, didn't you?" He added, eyebrows lowering in disappointment. The old wizard chuckled.

    "Not as much as you might think, Harry. After all, we didn't want to give your classmates a heart attack at such a young age, did we?" Glancing around at the gobsmacked expressions at the edge of the dueling platform, Harry shook his head with a slight blush.

    "Of course not, sir."

    "Good. In fact, a little visit to my office after dinner wouldn't be a bad idea either. Now, time for the next duel... Ah, and Harry-" The slender boy paused at the edge of the platform, looking back curiously. "-A short trip to the Hospital Wing would be advisable. Just in case." As Dumbledore called the next student up, Harry made a face and slunk to the back of the group where his friends were standing.

    "Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked anxiously, ignoring his flinch as she took his arm to help support his weight. "You look like you're in pain-"

    "Great job, Har!" Ron interrupted, a strange tint to his tone even as he grinned. "You were the best yet, even with a bum leg."

    Harry searched his best friend's face for a second to try and catch the elusive emotion in his blue eyes, but it was gone. "Thanks, guys," he said anyway, a bit hesitant. He turned to watch the last few students go up against Dumbledore. They dropped quickly enough. "I wish Dumbledore could've taught us from the beginning of the year. He's a great teacher."

    "The Headmaster has more important things to do than teach classes, Harry," Hermione chided. "Why, in  _Hogwarts, A History,_  it says that Headmasters stopped teaching over eighty years ago ever since Janis Jumburgler had a mental breakdown-"

    Harry and Ron shared a brief, exasperated glance before Ron spoke over Hermione's speech. "I suppose you know Dumbledore's a good teacher from those private lessons he gave you, eh?" Harry gave him a startled look, glancing around to make sure no one heard his words. Ron knew he wasn't supposed to mention that in public.

    "Er, yeah, I guess so. He helped me understand magic much better..."

    Ron pursed his lips and nodded, that strange expression flitting over his face again. Harry opened his mouth to comment on it, but Dumbledore's announcement to return to the classroom interrupted him. They didn't say anything else on the way back to the Defense classroom and they waited while a few minor curses were removed on some unfortunate duelers. For the rest of class, everything seemed completely normal and by the end Ron was nearly bursting with pride that he knew nearly every question that was asked.

    "Remember that trick question about changing a pin into a sword? We covered that in the DA ages ago! I bet defensive transfiguration isn't even in the book!" Ron gloated, making Harry and Hermione share an amused glance.

    "He has a point, Harry," Hermione said. "With what you taught us in the DA, we could probably take our Defense  _and_ Transfiguration OWLs by now. We won't, of course, because it would be stupid to skip several months of study time, but it's still amazing. And you say that we’re going to start on defensive Potions and Patroni? By the end of the year, we could probably pass for sixth years! I can't imagine what  _you_  can do. Can you pass your NEWTs?"

    Harry flushed slightly, refusing to meet their eyes. Hermione was getting that wild look in her eyes that came with the prospect of learning more. "Come on, guys, it's not  _that_  great..." Hermione pounced on the fact that he didn't deny it, her normally calm brown eyes getting a crazed look to them.

    " _Harry James Potter!_ " She hissed, just barely keeping herself from shrieking. "You could pass your NEWTs?!"

    Harry hesitated, glancing around guiltily as if he could be expelled for knowing too much. Eventually, he nodded faintly. "Just my Defense, Transfiguration, and Charms, I reckon," he added quickly. "Not enough to graduate." He actually believed he could. After all, he had read a  _lot_  of books over the summer and throughout his training, and with his new connection with magic, it only took him a few tries before he could perform a spell flawlessly and memorize it. He didn't want to advertise the fact, however. He had a hard enough time coming to terms with it himself.

    Hermione was silent, her eyes huge. She seemed to be having a hard time with the concept that Harry Potter, her best friend who was notorious for slacking in previous years, could now pass his NEWTs with little trouble. There  _had_  to be an explanation for how he was able to learn everything to quickly and easily, and Hermione was determined to find out what. She suspected that it had something to do with Zephyr, the phoenix Harry had been bonded to, but there was something more. She had noticed a difference in Harry since the summer and out of respect for her friend she didn't pry and accepted his explanation about Zephyr, but now that it was affecting his life in such an obvious way she felt like she needed to know what it was, if only so that she wouldn't feel so distant from her best friend anymore. They hadn't mentioned it, but both Ron and she had felt Harry becoming more distant, especially after the TriWizard Tournament. She couldn't help worrying about him.  
   

* * *

  
    That night, after dinner, it was with stifled groans of pain that Harry made his way to the Hedmaster's office and mumbled the password. His muscles were absolutely killing him after walking all over the school, up staircases, and a duel with Dumbledore to top it off. At this point he just wanted to sneak into the Prefect's bathroom and soak for several hours before falling asleep. When his thigh muscle trembled uncertainly at the top of the spiraling staircase, Harry decided that he would do just that... he had gotten the password from Ron only yesterday just for that purpose.

    Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Dumbledore's answer to his knock and he pushed the door open, trilling a short greeting when he caught sight of Fawkes on his perch in the corner. Harry's ability to speak, or rather "sing", the phoenix language had been progressing steadily, but it was still a bit broken. His throat was not used to making the sounds of a phoenix and, more often than not, instinct was the best teacher when he practiced trilling and singing with Zephyr behind silenced curtains on particularly bad nights.

    "Ah, no doubt the most beautiful sound that could ever come from a human throat," Dumbledore sighed, making Harry blush crimson. "Though opera is a close second." Harry just barely refrained himself from reminding Dumbledore that he was not exactly human anymore. He doubted that the old wizard would appreciate the distinction. "Now Harry, I would like to congratulate you on your rapid advancement in your classes. From what I understand, you are receiving average marks in most of your classes, but not all of your teachers have been fooled. They seem to think that you are holding back for some reason and - especially with the... current circumstances as they are - they would be most eager to see what you are truly capable of."

    "Er... I don't know if that's the best idea," Harry said hesitantly, not bothering to deny that he was holding back. "I mean, it would be best if Voldemort continues to underestimate me. He's already obsessed with killing me; I don't want to give him the idea that I might actually be a threat, even though it isn't true."

    "Ah ah, don't sell yourself so short, Harry," Dumbledore chided gently, his eyes twinkling. "I was nearly stunned several times during your class. You will be quite formidable once you heal again. Speaking of which, how are you feeling?"

    Harry shrugged. "I've felt worse. The scars are hard to see and my muscles are healing. I went to Madame Pomfrey for a check-up like you said, and she says that I can probably get rid of the cane by next week."

    "I'm glad, Harry. I want to apologize again for not making certain that St. Mungo's was protected. When you are concerned, we tend to make the most grievous-"

    "No- Don't. Don't worry about it, Professor - Albus." Harry stated, holding up his hand and keeping his voice firm. "It was my own decision to stay outside of St. Mungo's and I know you were all just trying to protect me. You're not perfect, and I know you are capable of making mistakes. Merlin knows I am too."

    "Thank you, my boy." Harry just nodded. There was a moment of silence before Albus raised his eyebrows as though surprised. "Ah, blast my old age! I forgot to also congratulate you on your efforts with your peers... or rather, your students." Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled merrily and Harry sighed inwardly, having no doubt that Dumbledore probably knew everything about the DA.

    "You know everything, don't you," he grumbled, causing the old man to chuckle. "And they're  _not_  my students."

    "Dear boy, I most certainly can't lay claim to knowing everything, but I  _do_  pride myself on being observant. Often times, that's really all you need." Knowing the truth of this, Harry nodded in agreement, but secretly entertained the thought of the Headmaster being in Slytherin when he was in school. He doubted there were many people alive who remembered whether he was or not, but he made a note to find out. "So, perhaps you can tell me why a few select students seem to be far advanced in Defense Against the Dark Arts than the others?"

    "Well, Hermione wanted to set up a study group for Defence Against the Dark Arts once we all found out that Umbridge wasn't going to help us at all. She came up with the idea of having  _me_  teach it, and I was kind of forced into it once everyone agreed it was a good idea. There are about twenty-five kids from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw, and they're between fourth and seventh years."

    "And what have you been teaching this group?"

    "Er... Defense, of course, but I've been incorporating a lot of different types of magic as well. Like, we just finished up a section on group defense in order to develop strategy and unity. Nearly two months ago, we worked on defensive Transfiguration, like changing random objects into things that could be used for distraction or something - everyone really seemed to like that, and it took forever to catch the stone bat the twins had transfigured from a stone bowl. Next, we're working on potions that can be carried around constantly, just in case of an attack, such as Pepper-up, healing, numbing, and even poisons. I've been researching a potion that you can throw on the ground and there's an explosion when the vial breaks. I haven't figured out exactly how to-" Harry stopped himself abruptly, realizing that he had begun rambling. Surprised at the emotion and enthusiasm he had once he started talking about the DA, he frowned slightly and wrinkled his brow in consternation.

    "Um, sorry..." he said. “I'm not sure why I started rambling."

    The knowing twinkling in Dumbledore's eyes was nearly blinding in its intensity. "No need to apologize, my boy, I too find myself rambling at the most inopportune and random times. Most inconvenient and often extremely tedious to those listening." He leaned forward, pressing his fingertips together in a steeple. "I, however, am most interested in this group. They sound quite adept at such advanced techniques. Do you have a name?"

    Harry cleared his throat, red tinting his cheeks. "Er, when Umbridge was still here, some of the others decided to name it 'Dumbledore's Army' to poke fun at her. We're the DA for short." Dumbledore looked faintly surprised and Harry was startled when a warm look of affection crept into the Headmaster's eyes.

    "What an honor, though a somewhat dubious name in light of what has occurred in the Ministry lately."

    "Yes, we were thinking of changing it to the Defense Association, now that Umbridge is gone."

    "Perhaps that is not such a bad idea." He sighed. "I cannot express how proud I am of you, Harry. You have taken the prophecies in stride and have taken your learning into your own hands. You are growing into an exceedingly capable wizard and a wonderful young man. I know that your life has not been an easy one and yet you continue to be kind, forgiving, and compassionate to others, despite their pasts. I could not be more proud. Is there anything you need from me to help you?"

    Harry's intense blush faded at the serious question, but the warm feeling in his chest did not. He felt Dumbledore's love and worry for him, and he could hardly grasp the concept that the old wizard felt such affection for him as Harry. Not Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, but Harry. Just Harry.

    "Prof- Albus, I've been thinking..." he began hesitantly. “It's really a miracle that Voldemort hasn't found out about our connection so far, but I think that that won't last for long. When I was watching the vision of Mr. Weasley being attacked by Nagini, I-"

    "I'm sorry, who?" Dumbledore interrupted. Harry looked confused before comprehension dawned on his face.

    "Oh. Nagini is Voldemort's familiar. She's a gigantic snake. Anyway, when I was watching the attack from Nagini's point of view, I was able to take control of her mind for a little bit. Not enough to make her stop, but Voldemort was kind of pushed out of the way for a second. He didn't pay much attention to it at the time, but I'm pretty sure he'll remember it soon. He'll know I was in his mind. So... I was hoping that you could teach me Occlumency. I've been trying to learn it on my own, but it would be much faster if you could teach me, especially since Umbridge is gone and we don't have to hide-"

    Dumbledore interrupted his rambling gently, a mischievous look in his eye that immediately put Harry on edge. "I'm sorry, my boy, but I don't think I can help you. I must admit that it is a very good idea, but I'm afraid that I will be much too busy in the coming months to be able to teach you properly. However," He added when he saw Harry's face fall, "I am glad to say that I know of someone who is just as skilled in Occlumency and Leglimency as I am, if not more so. His abilities have saved other's lives on more than one occasion, and I am certain that he will be able to teach you."

    "Who would that be?" Harry asked cautiously, an unexplainable sense of dread rising in his chest.

    "Why, our very own Severus Snape, of course." Harry's mouth dropped open.  _Damn that twinkle to hell._

* * *

     
    "You  _what_?!"

    "I have to take Occlumency from Snape, Ron," Harry repeated tiredly for the fifth time.

    "Merlin's balls! It was nice knowing ya, Har. I bet Snape'll have you either expelled or insane by the end of the second week!"

    "Right, thanks for the vote of confidence." Harry groaned, dropping his head into his arms. They were waiting in the Room of Requirement for the DA to arrive and Harry had just finished telling his friends about his meeting with Dumbledore. Before Harry could wallow in self-pity much longer, however, the door opened to admit the members of the DA in small groups. The meeting was a short one since it was getting late and it was mostly a "welcome back" meeting, though Harry remembered to tell them that they were now called the "Defense Association" and that Dumbledore knew about them. Afterwards, most made a point to approach Harry and welcome him back, expressing their relief that he was back and unharmed from his encounter with Voldemort. Even Zacharias Smith managed to swallow his pride enough to state that it was good to see that Harry hadn't broken under the Death Eater's torture. Harry decided to take the comment at face value.

    Harry was glad to note that nothing else was said about the matter. The group had long since learned that Harry more or less refused to speak of his experiences unless it was absolutely necessary to prove a point, and they didn't bother commenting on his cane or his limp. Several were kind enough to ask whether he was feeling well, but he waved off their concern quickly, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he felt like his legs were going to collapse on him any moment. The fact that most seemed to buy his act offered him little comfort.

    "That's it, I'm off to the Prefect's bathroom!" Harry announced when the last group had left. He massaged his left thigh surreptitiously, groaning inwardly.

    "Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked, frowning in concern.

    "I'm fine, 'Mione," Harry assured her tiredly. She had been asking him that question every five minutes, it seemed. "I just need a good soak, is all."

    "Well, I don't approve of non-Prefects using our bathroom, but I suppose I could let you go this time," she said, mock sternly before her face broke out into a small smile and she giggled. "Don't forget to tap the 'occupied' sign, though I doubt that'll stop Myrtle..."

    "'Mione!" Harry groaned, a stricken look on his face. She merely giggled again, scampering out the door of the Room of Requirement. Ron followed after her, dazed and startled.  
    "Did Hermione just giggle?" He asked, seemingly to himself. "Merlin, she almost acted like a... a girl!"

    Harry rolled his eyes and followed them out, closing the door behind himself as he went. He parted company with his best friends a moment later as he headed to the Prefect's bathroom in the opposite direction, wordlessly waving his hand to check the time with the  _Tempus_  spell. An hour till curfew. Perfect. He was relieved to find it unoccupied when he arrived and he drew close to the portrait, whispered the password ( _Sugar Plums_ ), and entered the bathroom, groaning out loud at the sight of the gigantic bathtub.

    Harry looked around quickly and saw that the room was devoid of any troublesome ghosts and that the flirty mermaid in the tapestry was fast asleep. Tapping the small square next to the door to make it glow red, indicating that the bath was in use, Harry gladly stripped off his clothing. Padding over to the pool, he dipped his finger into the water and felt it adjust to the temperature he wanted until the clear water was gently steaming. He then twisted a few random knobs around the edge to fill it with heavenly scents and bubbles. As he waited for the bubbles to fill the pool, he sat on the edge and let his legs dangle in the soothing water. He let out a long sigh as it lapped against his legs, almost like a small massage.

    Harry leaned back on his hands, looking down the length of his body for the first time in a long while. He had come to feel somewhat ashamed of his own body, having seen it pushed to the brink of starvation, exhaustion, and death too many times. At times, he hated how his life in the cupboard under the stairs had forced his body to be stunted, weak, and frail, how it seemed to give out on him in times when he needed it most in order to avoid his uncle's raging blows. It had been better since he came to Hogwarts, and especially since he had been removed from the Dursley's care, but now his body bore witness to his difficult life through the scars that littered his body liberally, scars that wouldn't fade with a few good meals or a night's sleep. And he also had the soft, slender curves of his hips and his horribly girly eyes to deal with since his bond to Zephyr. It wasn't that he was complaining or that he wished he could be tall and have large muscles - he had long ago accepted that he would probably always be short and skinny - but now, with the whole Wizarding World viewing him as the Boy Who Lived, their savior, Harry couldn't help but wish that he didn't look quite so young or delicate.

    Really, he could see a benefit in being underestimated by his enemies, but he couldn't understand why some of the younger girls even bothered approaching him to ask for a date.  _They are probably just caught up in the hype of the Boy Who Lived crap,_  he huffed mentally.  _They just want to say that they had dated Harry Potter._ Moving his legs gently in the bubbly water and reaching over to turn off the taps, Harry breathed in the humid air in the silence, letting it stretch his lungs and relax his body further. He finally pushed himself into the pool, gasping as the hot water nearly closed over his head before he stood and slowly made his way over to the steps, where he sat and let his body finally relax.

    Looking down, he lazily wiped the bubbles from his chest, feeling his fingers brush over the raised scars there. Even he didn't know all of what the Death Eaters had carved into his body, as he had pushed the whole event into the back of his mind in order to keep his emotions in control. Here, however, in the warm silence of the Prefect's bathroom, he allowed himself to examine some of the scars more minutely. There, beneath his breastbone, was the word "mudblood". There, along the edge of the seam of scar tissue from Uncle Vernon's belt, were the initials "B.B.L." for Bellatrix Black Lestrange. There, on his right shoulder above his shoulder blade, were the letters "L.M." in flowing cursive with a small, blurred scar where the Malfoy signet ring had been pressed and heated with a spell to leave a burn. There, beneath his right collarbone, was a similar, if slightly larger brand that was slightly more complicated: sinuous lines flowing in a Celtic knot, intertwined with a cauldron, a black crow, and the initials "S.S.".

    Finally, Harry let his fingers brush over the largest scar, a complex tangle of emotions drifting to the surface of his mind as he did so. Draco's mark. It had a circle of undecipherable runes around another intricate Celtic knot and the symbol for eternity in the center. In that identical spot over his heart, his mate held a mark as well; one of evil and darkness. Harry closed his eyes against the pain of remembrance, letting his head fall back and his body slip deeper into the cleansing water. He wasn't sure how he felt about Draco becoming a Death Eater. On the one hand, he knew that Draco had had no choice; Voldemort would have certainly killed him if he had refused, and yet, Harry couldn't help but think of the times when Draco seemed to struggle with the whole idea of being Harry's soul mate.

    True, Draco had accepted him, but he had made the decision in less than a week and against his initial responses. It would only make sense that the Slytherin would doubt the validity of his choice in hindsight. Heck, Harry doubted it himself sometimes, during moments when memories of their previous animosity were so close and it was so easy to believe that Draco hadn't changed at all. Looking back, when everything seemed to have made so much sense, it was hard to trust the emotions and choices that they were experiencing now. But no matter how much his mind rebelled against it, Harry's heart couldn't deny that he trusted Draco. Whether it was the phoenix inside of him or real feelings that he had developed for the blond, Harry trusted the arrogant jerk.

* * *

  
    Draco Malfoy paced outside of the Prefect's bathroom with a bag of clothing and a thick, fluffy towel slung over one shoulder, grinding his teeth and seething silently as his volatile temper grew with each passing minute.

    It had  _not_  been a good day.

    The day had started out with his hair refusing to compromise with him and having that pug-faced Pansy point out - loudly - at breakfast that his bangs flipped up slightly on one side; as if he hadn't already noticed and tried every charm in the book to make it lie straight. Then he'd had to suffer through class with that bastard Snape. Normally, Potions was a class he enjoyed, especially with his Godfather teaching it, but now he couldn't help but remember the way Snape had pressed his wand to Harry's chest and burned his own mark into the green-eyed boy's skin. Draco had known that Snape was a Death Eater like his father, but he also knew that the Potion's Master didn't enjoy the barbaric activities such as Sport and that Snape truly cared about his Godson, even if he didn't show it much.

    And yet, he couldn't quite forgive the man.

    Draco was still struggling with the protective, worried feelings that had squeezed around his heart while Harry was being tortured. Most of the time, he was somewhat content with the decision he had made to accept his mate - especially when he was alone with Harry - but there were times such as today when he had heard of Harry's duel with Dumbledore that the sudden rise of strange emotions shook him up a bit. He had known that Harry's muscles were weak and tired easily, and the concern that had sparked in his chest had startled him. He was torn between the familiar jealousy and dislike that he had become so familiar with in past years and this new feeling of possessiveness and caring for the Boy Who Lived.

    All in all, the confusing mess that had become his life along with his bad hair day and nearly being hexed by a vindictive Gryffindor in Herbology definitely garnered an immediate, long soak in the Prefect's bathroom. Unfortunately, the bathroom had been occupied since he had arrived nearly ten minutes ago, and his patience was quickly wearing thin. He had come all this way to unwind and he would  _not_  be denied.

    Barking out the ridiculous password, Draco barged into the steamy bathroom, noting the discarded robes and clothing on the floor. Judging by the red boxers with yellow Snitches zooming around the waistband, the bather was probably a Gryffindor, which meant that it had to be Ron Weasley; the only male Gryffindor Prefect. Draco winced at the prospect of seeing the lanky redhead in the nude, but it had to be done. Draco Malfoy definitely did  _not_  share baths with  _anyone_ , much less a Weasley, no matter how much Harry wanted Draco to be civil to his friends.

    "Right, Weasley, I'm sure that you would love to hog the bathroom for all hours of the night, but there are some people more deserving that have to return to their dorms before curfew." Draco heard a startled splash as his drawling voice echoed and he smirked as he peered through the steam. "And I am  _not_  sharing a bath with your skinny arse. So get out."

    "Frankly, you're either going to have to come in and drag me out of here, Malfoy, or you'll have to join me, because I've only been in here for fifteen minutes." A familiar head of black hair moved from near the steps of the pool where Draco hadn't noticed it, and the Slytherin blinked in surprise. "And I think I deserve a bath far more than you do."

    "Pot- Harry?" Draco asked stupidly, as if that smooth, melodic voice could belong to anyone else human in this school.

    "Draco." Harry returned tiredly, relaxing back against the steps. The Slytherin remained silent for a while, his silver eyes glittering with contemplation at this new development. He certainly hadn't expected it, but now that he thought about it, a bath  _and_  a snog would certainly relax him more than simply a bath. That is,  _if_  he managed to coax the Gryffindor into a snogging mood. Things had been a bit strained between them after what had occurred over the break. Perhaps he could bend the  _No bathing with others_  rule for the moment.

    "I suppose I'll have to join you," Draco said with a long-suffering sigh. "Leaving without a bath is simply not an option, and your blasted Gryffindor stubbornness will probably require too much energy to force you to leave."

    "Whatever happened to sharing a bath with my 'skinny arse'?"

    Draco waved a dismissive hand, shedding his outer robes as he did so. "A technicality. Weasley's arse is far more skinny and bony than yours."

    "And you would know, would you? Going behind my back with my best friend, Malfoy?" Harry said amusedly. He could see the blond shudder through the light steam, but then he turned away when Draco started pulling off his trousers and shirt.

    "Hardly, Potter. If he were the last male in Hogwarts, I would turn straight so fast his head would spin." The blond hesitated for a long moment, hovering at the edge of pulling off his shirt.

    "Oh come on, he's not that bad. Hermione likes him well enough." Draco shook his head, flinging off the shirt with finality and pulling off his boxers.

    "I'm not even going to try and touch that," he muttered just loudly enough to be heard.

    "Smart move." Harry remarked, closing his eyes and hearing a splash as Draco stepped in beside him. He was suddenly grateful that he had put in so many bubbles.

    "Wow, Potter, do you think you have enough bubbles in here?" Draco asked, noting how anything below water level was impossible to see.

    Harry shrugged. "Couldn't take any chances with Myrtle or the mermaid this time."

    Noting the exhaustion in the raven-haired boy's voice, Draco frowned slightly as he looked over Harry's face closely. His eyes were closed in relaxation, but the slight pinched look at the corners of his eyes and mouth indicated stress. Disappointment sank into Draco's stomach, but it was quickly overwhelmed by a feeling of protectiveness and affection that flowed through his veins. He wouldn't be snogging Harry tonight, but whether he wanted it or not, his mate was in pain and he couldn't just sit there when he could help ease it. Draco gently grasped Harry's left arm and shifted himself closer.

    Harry's eyes snapped open in surprise and turned to see that Draco's face was suddenly closer than it had been, a foreign emotion in the blond's eyes. He was suddenly uncomfortably aware that they were both naked and though a small surge of arousal shot through his core, Harry mostly felt overwhelmingly tired. He couldn't deal with this today. He pulled his hand away.

    "Please Draco, I'm tired. I can't deal with-" He began, only to be cut off.

    "Give me some credit, Harry, I know you're hurt. I may be horny as hell, but I never take advantage of someone who's injured. It just kills the mood." He let a smirk curl his lips upward before falling back into a serious expression. He tugged on Harry's arm, bringing himself closer. "Let me do this. As your mate, I can help ease your pain." Harry blinked his eyes in surprise. The blond rarely mentioned their "relationship" so openly. As Draco took his hand once more, Harry felt a spark of warmth travel through his arm and up to his brain with a small wave of emotions following in its wake. The emotions were similar to his own, but they felt a bit different: possessiveness, concern, and a hint of apprehensiveness. Draco's emotions. Harry wasn't sure if this was his empathic abilities or part of his connection with his mate, but before he could contemplate them further all thoughts were swept away when the blond began massaging his hand gently.

    Starting at Harry's hand and working slowly upward, Draco soothingly massaged Harry's tense and sore muscles, feeling the ridges of countless scars pass beneath his fingers as he worked his way up to Harry's shoulder. His rising hatred toward those that did this to his mate was tempered by Harry's occasional soft moans of pure delight mixed with pained relief. They were silent as Draco worked in complete concentration, but it was a comfortable silence. Somehow, Draco had moved closer and closer until he was crouched by Harry's side in the water, his right knee brushing against Harry's back and his left knee pressed lightly into Harry's left thigh. Harry, nearly asleep by now, barely noticed. Draco reached the top of Harry's arm and, compelled by some unknown emotion, he dipped his head to press a soft kiss to the warm, wet skin of Harry's shoulder.

    Harry sucked in a breath at the touch before letting it out again as warmth spread throughout his body, originating at the point where Draco's lips had touched. He felt his body relax even further, and he let himself shift to the side to lean against his mate. Just as he touched Draco's chest, however, a sharp pain lanced over his scar and he jerked away with a yelp of pain. He pressed the fingers of his right hand against the scar where the pain was already fading and stared with wide eyes at Draco's chest. The Dark Mark grinned blackly from its place above Draco's heart, mocking his forgetfulness as his heart pounded furiously.

    "Harry? What happened? Are you alright?" Draco asked anxiously. The calming atmosphere of the room had vanished abruptly. He moved to grasp Harry's arm, but instead paused to follow Harry's gaze to his chest where the symbol of his slavery was burned into his skin. Realization dawned and his eyes dimmed slightly with shame and dismay. "The Dark Mark? Does the Dark Mark hurt you?"

    Harry blinked, his thoughts broken. Furrowing his brows, he shook his head slightly.  _That's never happened before._  Hesitantly, he stretched out his hand to gently touch the mark again. This time, pain not only seared across his scar but spiked through his right temple as well and he yanked his hand back to cradle his head painfully. It took longer, but eventually the pain receded and Harry became aware of Draco's hand gently rubbing his back. His body relaxed again and he raised his head, meeting his mate's concerned gaze.

    "I'm alright," he answered in response to the unasked question. "I didn't expect the Dark Mark would do that, but I guess I've never really had a reason to touch one before. It probably has something to do with my connection to Voldemort..."

    Draco drew away slightly, the shutters closing on the emotions in his eyes, and he murmured, "I'm sorry. I'll put a concealment charm on it so-"

    "No, don't do that," Harry interrupted, shaking his head wearily. "It's there, so why hide it? There's no reason to pretend like it never happened. I'll just be more careful when I grope you in the future." He grinned crookedly with a slight leer in his gaze, trying to lighten the atmosphere a bit. He couldn't let the blond brood too long on things that he couldn't change; it would just lead to more problems in the future. Apparently, he succeeded, because Draco relaxed and a hint of familiar warmth softened his eyes.

    "Careful with that tone, Potter," he warned in a growl, "and get over here." He grasped Harry's arm again and tugged him gently over until Harry's thigh touched his. Draco resumed his previous position and rotated until he was sitting behind the Gryffindor, who tensed. Draco rolled his eyes - there was still six inches of distance between them for Merlin's sake! - but spoke softly.

    "Relax, Harry, I'm not going to do anything. You still need to be healed."

    "H-healed?" Harry said, his voice breaking very slightly. The green-eyed boy blushed, still highly aware of their nakedness and Draco's position behind him. He wondered why Draco didn't seem to feel self-conscious at all, but then he remembered how his eyes were automatically drawn to the firm curve of the blond's arse whenever he walked by and felt himself harden slightly.  _Maybe because he doesn't have anything to be self-conscious about,_ he thought ruefully.

    Draco was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on Harry's back as his fingers began their gentle movement at the junction of Harry's shoulder and neck. "I've done some research," he said eventually. "Phoenixes, like many magical creatures who mate for life, pass some of their abilities on to their mate. I haven't really discovered mine yet, but some books mentioned that they could involve sensory enhancements, a power increase, and the ability to heal their mates to some extent. And we have a mental connection."

    Harry nodded. "I knew about that, but the connection won't solidify until we... er, complete the bond. I didn't know that you could heal though." Harry didn't mention that he had ventured into his mind after returning from Voldemort's clutches and saw just how tenuous their connection was at the moment. Dumbledore had mentioned that after they had completed the bond that connection would increase exponentially until they were so close that it would be nearly impossible to break, which meant that Harry was really a liability at the moment. If all it took was a slight misunderstanding to destroy Harry and Draco's relationship, then they would hardly be prepared for a war where no one could afford to have weaknesses. The problem was, Harry wasn't exactly sure whether he was ready for that step or not, and he didn't want to be pushed into anything.

    He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly missed Draco's quiet response.

    "Too bad I can't heal scars..."

    Harry felt his mate's long, slender fingers caress the mark over his right shoulder that Draco's father had left and Harry tensed. Uncertainty suddenly bloomed in his mind as he remained silent. Did Draco hate the scars? Was he disgusted by them? Did he think Harry was weak for having them? Harry had thought that it would be okay to let Draco see them because the blond had actually been  _there_  and understood to some extent why he had them. He still wasn't sure whether Ron and Hermione were ready to hear what happened in detail, and he wasn't sure that he could tell it yet. Really, Draco was the only person that he felt understood this part of his life right now. Remus and Sirius would just worry over him and become over-protective, Hermione and Ron wouldn't know what to do with the information and it would just be awkward afterwards, Dumbledore would just blame himself and apologize again, and he really didn't know any other adults well enough to talk to them about it. He enjoyed Draco's sharp wit and his biting, sarcastic comments with the underlying understanding and compassion.

    And yet, at the same time, Harry didn't really want to burden Draco with the full knowledge of what had happened in his short life. He didn't want to burden anyone. But there were times that the pain from the Dursley's and the TriWizard Tournament would fester and he had the sudden urge to blurt out that his uncle had hit him hard enough to send him across the room, or that his aunt used to make him sleep in the frozen shed on New Year's because she had guests over, or that if he had known what would happen to Cedric he would have taken the Killing Curse instead. But no... Draco had his own problems, and he didn't need Harry's to add to them. Harry just didn't know what he would do without Draco's silent understanding.

    Unbidden, Harry's mouth opened and asked: "Do they bother you? The scars." His eyes focused on the thinning carpet of bubbles in front of him, his body still tense as Draco's fingers stilled. Silence spread throughout the room, the air nearly crackling with tension. Draco seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

    "It bothers me that anyone would do this to you, and it bothers me that everyone around you just let it happen without noticing. No one deserves that, especially you. It bothers me that I was there to see some of it happen and that I actually participated in it without lifting a finger to help you or fight back. But do the scars themselves bother me? No. We all have scars, Harry, but the difference is that you don't have to be ashamed of yours. None of them were your fault."

    Harry relaxed slightly, though in the deepest part of his mind he disagreed. It was his fault. If only he had followed Tonks' orders, if only he hadn't talked back to Uncle Vernon, if only he hadn't stolen an apple that day... In some ways, it  _was_  his fault. As if sensing his thoughts, Draco leaned forward and pressed his lips against the base of Harry's neck, causing the scarred boy to shiver as warmth spread through his body once more.

    "I can't convince you not to believe what you've believed your whole life." Draco's voice was soft, his breath wafting over Harry's ear. "But to me, the scars are only a  _part_  of who you are, not everything. Besides, can I help it if I find this one incredibly sexy?" The Slytherin reached over Harry's left shoulder and let the fingers of his left hand brush against the mark over Harry's heart, his voice lowering to a lusty purr. Harry let out a chuckle even as his body shuddered in response to his mate's tone. Draco was close now, very close, but he was careful not to let the Dark Mark touch any part of Harry's body.

    "Why Draco, I've never heard you sound so much like a Hufflepuff before. I didn't know you had it in you!" Harry teased, turning his head slightly to look over his shoulder. Draco immediately pulled back, much to Harry's relief (he wasn't sure if he could stop his body from becoming more aroused if Draco actually made a move), and looked offended.

    "That's a low blow, Potter," he said disgustedly. "I did not - nor ever  _will_  - sound like a  _Hufflepuff_. I'm going to have to show you your place if you keep mouthing off like that."

    "Oh really, and how will you do that, Malfoy?" Harry asked amusedly, turning around to face the blond. When he met Draco's dark, lust-filled gaze, he blushed, very self-conscious of their nakedness again. "Er, don't answer that. Besides, it's nearly curfew and-" He broke off with a gasp as Draco abruptly leaned down and grasped his shoulders, pulling Harry up to crush their lips together possessively.

    Harry froze for a moment before he eagerly returned the kiss, feeling like it had been forever since he had been this close to Draco. A groan escaped him as Draco pressed his tongue demandingly against Harry's lips, nearly forcing the smaller teen to open his mouth. The familiar hot, minty sensations nearly drove Harry wild. His arms automatically came up to run his hands down Draco's side and over his back, bringing them closer, but not close enough to press their bodies together as Harry wanted to. He could feel himself hardening even more, his mind such a whirlwind of pleasure that he didn't care if Draco would be able to feel the erection against his thigh or not. Draco had managed to make him hot and eager when at the start of the evening he was simply exhausted, and only a single thought crossed his mind as Draco nibbled on his bottom lip, making him moan with pain/pleasure:  _Damn, Draco's good at this._

    Then, it was over.

    Draco's support vanished as he stepped back and Harry stumbled forward, nearly tripping over a step as he tried to catch his balance. Blinking stupidly, he looked up to see Draco leaving the pool, too stunned to even blush as his darkened gaze fastened on his mate's perfect behind unabashedly. Eventually, he gathered his wits enough to step out as well, somehow managing to concentrate enough to wandlessly summon his towel to him. Harry seethed with frustration, glaring at the smirking blond (who had managed to put his pants back on while Harry was still in a stupor). He was feeling a bit tired of always being the submissive one in their relationship. He felt weak enough without having Draco leave him hanging like that (no pun intended). Harry was definitely going to be the one taking control of their next kiss, even if it meant giving in slightly to the more basic instincts of the phoenix. He smiled dangerously, enjoying how Draco's smug expression faltered slightly.

    Who ever said phoenixes had to be pure all the time?

* * *

    The next morning, Harry woke feeling more energized and healthy than he had ever since returning from Voldemort's hideout. He had immediately gotten rid of his cane and even visited the Hospital Wing to show Madame Pomfrey (without telling her that the healing had taken place in the Prefect's bathtub, of course). Poppy was astounded at his recovery and promised to research phoenixes so that she could at least be somewhat prepared for other abilities or situations that may arise.

    Happily cane-free, Harry was free to enjoy what seemed to be turning out to be a normal year as January faded into February. Voldemort was laying low, taking advantage of the Minitry's deliberation on a new Minister. Both Umbridge and Fudge were serving time in Azkaban. Pettigrew was slowly being driven insane in the deepest depths of Azkaban. Lucius Malfoy was on the run. The DA was progressing quickly past defensive potions and were soon going to jump eagerly into the Patronus Charm. Harry himself was improving in his own private studies and, under Zephyr's calm teaching, was able to access the empathic powers that had been growing since starting Hogwarts. He rarely used it because, frankly, he really didn't want to know what a school full of hormonal teenagers were feeling. With Valentine's Day approaching, it seemed as though the halls of Hogwarts were infused with nearly tangible sexual tension.

     It was February 10th, and Harry had just flopped into a chair in the common room after returning from an Occlumency lesson with Snape, whose mood was as black as midnight lately.

    Occlumency lessons had begun only a week after Harry had suggested it to Dumbledore, but Harry was surprised to find that his dread was unnecessary. Sure, Snape was still a cruel, misanthropic git, but there was an underlying emotion to the lessons that were both unnerving and confusing to Harry. Snape almost seemed to be trying to figure him out, like a particularly difficult puzzle that most likely had a frustratingly simple answer. In fact, Snape had not yet tried to enter Harry's mind at all. Instead, he had given him a book entitled The Guide to the Mind and Emotions and ordered him to read it, and then he had tested Harry on the book's content.

    Harry wasn't entirely certain what he had been planning on, but it almost seemed as if Snape was actually taking the care to prepare him. The idea was ludicrous.

**Author's Note:**

> Liked my writing? You might like my Tumblr. rosyourboat.tumblr.com


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